


American Beauty/American Psycho

by XOKEEFE



Series: TWIN SKELETONS [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Andy Hurley - Freeform, Brendon Urie - Freeform, F/M, FOB, Joe Trohman - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Patrick Stump fan fiction, Pete Wentz fan fiction, Peterick, fall out boy - Freeform, patrick stump - Freeform, pete wentz - Freeform, twin skeletons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-25 22:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3827827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XOKEEFE/pseuds/XOKEEFE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hop on guys, this is going to be a twisted ride. Troi makes a drunk phone call for a ride home and is picked up by…Patrick? This is the story of a girl with what a catch personality and what happens when a guy decides to go out of his way for a stranger. The consequences are intense, and they both get more than they bargained for. Set in 2015, AU, Chicago, IL. Troi, along with her best friend Dez are in for the ride of their lives when they end up becoming friends with Patrick of Fall Out Boy. </p><p>A Patrick Fic.</p><p>P.S, Reviews make chapters happen and also, I tend to write REALLY long chapters. So. Hope you like details and ish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. AMERICAN BEAUTY/AMERICAN PSYCHO

*DISCLAIMER: I am in no way affiliated with Fall Out Boy. I have only ever met them, I do not know them. All music referenced in this fic is credited to the original owner. All names used are purely coincidental with the exception of the band. This fic is set in 2015, and I have taken liberties with the known timeline. In this AU, none of the band members are currently dating anyone, and none of them have lil bambinos. Characteristics are based upon the guys but are definitiely not accurate descriptions. Hope you enjoy it. Not every chapter with be eighteen pages long, jsyk, but I’ll try to keep each one quality. Future chapters might hold adult content. Please look over warnings before reading. It’s good to be back.  
  
-Smokey  
  
  
  
“And fate? No one alive has ever escaped it, neither brave man nor coward, I tell you— it’s born with us the day that we are born.” ― Homer, _The Iliad_  
  
  
  
_Downtown , Chicago, IL  
2:17 am_  
*  
  
_Troi let out a howl of laughter, her fist coming down to pound her knee in delight. “Holy shit, I can’t even---” She shook her head and laughed. “That was awful,” she told him with a smile. Patrick matched the expression and chuckled, exposing his teeth in a wide and adorable smile.  
  
“Yeah, well, I’m a singer not a comedian,” he told her. His bad jokes actually weren’t so bad. They were making her laugh, so technically they weren’t that awful. Troi nodded to him and crossed her legs to her comfortable, leaning in towards him.  
  
“A really good one, stick with it. Jokes are not your thing,” she teased. “I’m kidding. I bet I could think of a worse joke than that.”  
  
“Prove it.” They had breezed right past the topic of his singing, though she evidently was familiar with him. He had wanted to ask how familiar but that would have sounded vain anyway. Plus she wasn’t acting like a deranged fan (not that there were many) and honestly, it wasn’t an important topic yet. They’d only just met. For all he knew he might never see her again. Okay, that was bull, he was already trying to decide how to ask her out.  
  
She rolled her eyes and grinned, her gaze turning away for a moment as she grinned and searched her brain for something cheesy. “...ooh, okay! I got one.” She shifted in her seat and got comfy again before putting both hands out and smiled coyly.  
  
“What does a nosey pepper do?” She held her breath and waited for an answer.  
“I dunno, what?” Patrick gave her a shrug.  
“Get jalapeño business!” Troi chuckled, a grin curving her lips. Patrick shook his head, his sight lingering on the way the shade of her mouth. He forced himself to meet her eyes and smiled. “No way. That was adorable at best.”  
“Ugh,” She gave him a faux glare despite the fact that she was trying not grin at being called ‘adorable’ and let out a dramatic breath. She was silent for a second and a half, then she sat up, casually, as if they had been in the middle of another conversation. “So this guy---with a premature ejaculation problem,” She nodded as she were irritated, “comes out of nowhere!”  
  
Patrick snorted at the response, thankfully he hadn’t been taking a drink, and burst into laughter, his voice deep and in perfect pitch as expected. “No, you did not!” He howled, completely losing his shit. The boy was in stitches. Troi was pretty sure she had never seen someone laugh and been this in awe. She couldn’t help it, his hysterics were contagious. She cracked up as well and for a full moment they laughed loudly, their delightment filling her living room. Troi saw this as her cue to go on and she nodded.  
  
“And why was six afraid of seven? Huh, HUH? You wanna know why?”  
  
Patrick shook his head. “Because seven ate---” She shook her head back.  
  
“Because seven was a well known SIX offender.” She said pointing at him, her voice very serious. Patrick paused for a split moment, long enough for the joke to settle, and he howled again, his head throwing back. He didn’t give a damn who heard; these jokes were horrible. Horrible and perfect. “Oh, God, stop,” He said through laughter, “Stop---”  
  
“You know, my friend recently got crushed by a pile of books...” She shook her head and sighed. “But she’s only got her shelf to blame.”  
  
Patrick laughed lighter now, coming down from the laugh attack and coughed, his cheeks red, a grin from cheek to cheek as he continued to randomly chuckle. “Oh man. Comedy is so NOT your forte,” he joked. “You win. Those were terrible.”  
  
She grinned at him, blushing and settled into his side, his arm around her casually. Like they had done this a thousand times.”_  
  
*  
_Earlier that day  
8:52 pm_  
  
  
Troian’s pencil tapped the corner of her hardbound copy of The Illiad. It’s other half, The Oddysey was somewhere tucked away in her book shelf. In the background, as she read the classic to herself, Shadowplay by Joy Division played and in her head The Illiad was slowly being remixed into a modern day mashup of music and poetry. She bobbed her head to the music, feet bouncing on tempo, and mouthed the lyrics to herself as she also read.  
  
She’d had a copy of the epic poem since high school when Mrs. Briesner assigned her class the tome as a revenge assignment that was meant to give some shread of value to herself for staying at a job she hated. The joke had been on her. Troi had loved reading since she was she four and first began to develope the skill to read. The love had blossomed over night and by the time she realized she had fallen in love with the written word, it was too late to escape.  
  
When Mrs. Breisner had issued that assignment later, in the elevent grade, Troian had just taken it as an opportunity to buy more books. What was better? What beat walking down the long quiet aisle of a bookstore and running your fingers over the edges of the spines? Breathing in the smell of paper and time after buying an old edition. Opening a brand new book and falling into another world? She had rather enjoyed the epic poem. Who knew that some four years later she was going to decently prepared for this assignment in her British Literature class?  
  
While many of her classmates had groaned about the sheer weight of their copies of Homer’s The Illiad, she had grinned away because she got to go home and take another book to add to her shelf in her new apartment. The raven haired girl smiled a crooked smile to herself as the memory took over. She hadn’t even had to buy a copy for this assigment and she was glad. Books in college were fucking expensive.  
  
_She had plucked the book from her the shelf in the corner of her old but homey room (as well as it’s sequel and two other books) and her father caught her and she clutched her books to her chest and shut the door to her room. “More books? Pretty soon you’ll be be sleeping on a bed of those because you’ll run out of room. Do you really need all of those at your new apartment?”  
  
“Dad!” She gasped in horror, “Yes, of course, how can you even ask that. I’m getting bored, I read all of my books already.”  
  
“Again?”  
  
She rolled her eyes and her dad grinned. Just one of the perks of being a bookworm_  
  
Her eyes fell back to the book and she took a quick breath and exhaled before she attempted to fall back into studying.  
  
"Andromache,  
dear one, why so desperate? Why so much grief for me?”  
  
Troian frowned in concentration read on, holding the book close. She was lying on her bed, feet up in the air, crossed. Her long had was thrown into a tight bun because it was just a habit to do so after she got out of the shower and her her was all wet. She flipped her pencil that had she had in case she came across anything particularly interesting and tapped the eraser again her chin.  
  
“No man will hurl me down to Death, against my fate.  
_And fate? No one alive has ever escaped it,  
neither brave man nor coward, I tell you--_  
it's born with us the day that we are born.”  
  
The girl blinked for a moment, the words hovering above her head in a echo. She was not sure why, but these words holding onto her, telling her she needed to remember them but she knew not why. The girl dogged eared the page and the jotted down the script on the loose sheet of paper she’d had on stand by. She decided she needed to taste the words, let them sink in and glanced back down to continue reading with the familiar ping of her phone stole her attention. She had just been waiting for an excuse. Her assignment was immediately forgotten and she grabbed up the electronic and flipped open her sidekick.  
  
**Dezzy:** Heading to The Attic in half an hour. Meet me there or be a fuxkin loser who doesn’t have drinks with her bestie-square.  
CB: 555-0174  
  
Troi grinned as she red the comment and stood immediately, looking down at herself. She was in pajamas but half an hour was plenty of time to make some kind of change happen. A slight dent in the terrying look she was sporting now. Oversized pajamas, a red and grey baseball tee with pikachu in the front and mis matched socks.  
  
**Troi** : Why would I want to have drinks with you? Do you even go to this school??  
CB: 555-3890  
  
**Dezzy** : I just have a lot of feelings. You have to come, you have no choice.  
CB: 555-0174  
  
**Troi** : I figured as much. See you soon!  
CB: 555-3890  
  
The girl dropped her phone on her bed and immediately hit her closet. Fifteen minutes later she looked like she put in some effort into her wardrobe with a pair of black skinny jeans that hugged her hips and and long grey tank top with the words SONIC FEST in large black letters across the entirety of the front. She pulled on long, knee high black boots and threw on a couple of bracelets before she realized she would have on time to do anything to her hair. The girl let her bun fall loose and her hair fell into natural, almost dry curls. With just a hint of eyeliner, she felt good enough to finally officially ditch her homework and she grabbed her wallet and her phone before she took off, the epic poem still laying on her bed, open to the page she had quoted.  
  
*  
  
It took her about forty five minutes by metro to arrive to her street, and she hopped at the stop and quickly made her way to the surface and two blocks up one of her favorite bar/clubs. It was called The Attic and her friend Deizin and she had discovered on one of their very first nights living in the city on their own. Dezzy was her roommate but she had been hanging out with a friend today; Troi couldn’t remember who.  
  
Dez and she had met at summer camp--- _Camp Tikanawa---to be exact and been on the same capture the flag team. While Troi had been much less eager to steal anyone’s anything, Deizin had been the one to forumalte a plan to cut through the outlined trails and circle behind the other teams towards their site. She had been the type to take charge at an early age.  
  
“Who died and put you in charge?” Rebecca Franswell cattliy asked.  
  
“I put myself in charge because you were too busy whining about your hair,” Dez had told her. “I guess you didn’t hear me over yourself. Just in case ya didn’t know, this is Camp TA-KI-NA-WA,” she said slowly. “Not fashion week in Milan.”  
  
Eight other nine year olds stopped in the middle of Branson forest to stare at Dez’s cajones. Rebecca Franswell was the poster child of the girl who was handed to her on a silver platter. She was the typical girl’s ideal best friend because her dad actually allowed her to buy ponies for her last birthday---as many as she wanted---and if there was one thing she was good at it, it was riding. Unfortunately, that meant nothing to Dez who disliked the girl’s snotty attitude.  
  
“You are so weird anyway,” Becca told Dez, as she shot one of her girls a look that said ‘back me up here.’  
  
“I would watch what you say. My dad practically owns this stupid place.” Becca said, and the girl to her right nodded as if to agree. Dez rolled her eyes and laughed to the rest of the girls.  
  
“I think that’s the best she’s got,” she giggled. The group followed suit and Rebecca gave a huff, her hand coming up to toss her golden hair in the sun.  
  
“Okay, guys. We need to focus.” Dez gave everyone a stern look. “We’re close to their campsite, the trail is ahead. We need someone to go in, someone stealthy...we need...Troi!” She said brightly, her eyes landing on the short chubby girl in the back of the group who’s shy eyes were widening at the sound of her name.  
  
“You need what?”  
  
“We need you.”  
  
“What? No? I can’t---I don’t---”  
  
“It’ll be okay.” Dez assured her. “You can do it. Trust me. Go get the flag.” The way she spoke...it was as if they had known each other their whole life. As if they were two old souls who had shared countless adventures in life. Dez was so sure, so positive about her, as if she knew what the future held. She looked at her camp-mate steadily. “Ready?”  
  
She was so convincing Troian didn’t realized she had agreed until she was being watched leave by her entire group. The girl gulped.  
  
Twenty minutes later she emerged back from the thicket with a flag._  
  
That moment had been defining. It was the moment they had become best friends. They didn’t even had to say it, the two girls had just shared a smile and known. And that seemed to be one of the brightest aspects of their friendship. Though their were endless amazing things about her best friend, Troian had put the idea that Dez was empowering, inspiring, at the very top. She had always given Troian courage. Like her mere presence radiated bravery.  
  
“Sup Supa Bitch,” someone said, running up behind her. Troi grinned immediately, recognizing the voice. “Homie,” Troian said, throwing her fist out. Dez fell into step with her, and didn’t miss a beat. They exchanged dabs and looked each other over. Deizin was fabulous as always. She was sporting a little black dress that looked stunning on her and have topped it off with badass pair of studded heels. Damn she looked hot.  
  
“You look good!” Dez nodded in approval. “You need to stop being afraid if your boobs and work them but you looks good, bae.”  
  
“I am not afraid of my boobs.”  
  
“I swear you are, I never see you wear anything that even remotely reveals cleavage.” Dez crossed her arms and shot Troian a look as if this were the most important peice of imformation ever and Troian shook her head.  
  
“Cleavage is overrated.”  
  
“Cleavage is powerful.” Dez told her, arching a brow. “Trust me, I know.” She had a sly smile that slowly drifted in the direction of a good looking guy heading down the street who had caught her eye. Without a doubt, she too had caught his and she waved as he kept walking. How did Dez do that? She didn’t even have to try, guys’ eyes just seemed to naturally gravitate towards her.  
  
Troian laughed and they headed towards the entrance of The Attic. It was above a bar that was open during the day but after about six o’clock, the place usually filled up with people wanting to watch sports game and everyone trying to dance the alcohol out of their system headed upstairs. The girls stopped behind a couple and lazily pulled out their IDs. “Do you know who’s playing tonight?” Troian asked Dez.  
  
Her friend scrunched her lips and made a clueless face. “No idea,” she said shrugging. “If no one is, I’m throwing out requests.”  
  
“As long as you don’t ask the DJ to throw in random James Brown.”  
  
“Hey, James Brown is a legend and I felt good. I needed to dance.” They took another step towards the security guard as the people ahead moved forward.  
  
“James Brown IS a legend but the music has to flow, you can’t just bribe the DJ fifty bucks to throw him in during the middle of ‘Party In The USA.’”  
  
“True,” Dez mused thoughtfully and grinned. “How was reading your poem?”  
  
“It was alright, I’ve already read it before.” The girls took a step forward and both held out their ID’s to the security guard.  
  
“No surprise funk,” he warned Dez, clearly recognizing her and the blond’s mouth dropped open as he returned their IDs to them and let them pass.  
  
Several hours, six shots, two long islands and a red headed slut later, Troi was swishing on the dance floor, shaking her little booty off to Overnight Celebrity with some guy who had asked her to dance. Honestly, it was more of grinding, but she was okay with this is because Twista jammed. “I love this song!” She said over the music. The guy she was dancing with didn’t seem to hear her, his eyes were focused on the sway of Troian’s hips. A few feet away Dezzy was dancing with a tan skinned guy with kept whispering things in her ear. Troian could only imagine, and she didn’t really want to. She swayed to the music and turned to face her dance partner who she was pretty sure was named Justin, but she couldn’t be sure.  
  
“HEY!” Someone called in her ear and Troian turned to face both Dezzy and her new found toy. “We’re gonna go back to my place, you wanna go, or can you get home?”  
  
Troi nodded drunkenly, and grinned. “Yeah, no, go! Have fun! Be careful, though, text me when you get home. And tomorrow, so I know you’re alive.”  
  
“I wiiiiiillll,” Dezzy sang, “Thanks for coming out, I’ll hit you up tomorrow.”  
  
“Love you,” Troian said, half hugging her friend. “Love you too,” Deizin called back over the music. It wasn’t often that her friend and she split was after a drinking binge like this, but every now and then it happened. It wasn’t that big a deal, there was usually a friend or two she could call to pick her up if she offered some gas money. The majority of them were and would be awake until the late hours of the night.  
  
Unfortunately, it was not until another hour later, when the room began to spin, and the dancing began to feel more like dry sex than actually dancing that Troian pulled away, leaving her dance partner disappointed and irritated on the dance floor. She rushed towards the side exit and away from the disarray of music and flashing lights to breath fresh air before the full effect of her drunken state really got to her. Oh, wait, too late. The girl stumblef forward, barely catching herself before she fell and snorted before she laughed out loud, her voice echoing into the nearly empty alley. A handful of people were outside, a couple chattering away to themselves quiet, lost in their sweet nothings, and a group of three girls who were smoking a cigarette. Ooh. Yeah. That made Troi want one, too. She reached into her back pocket to retrieve her Marlboro 27’s and her mini Bic lighter and quickly sparked a stick. _Okay_ , she thought to herself, sucking on her cigarette. _I am super drunk._ Troi checked her phone. 1:37 am.  
  
She could ride the metro back home, but it would take her a good thirty minutes.  
  
_I am so not riding the metro back forty five minutes._ By car it was fifteen minutes max, but without one, she was screwed. She knew that Dez was probably off with this guy. She didn’t like bringing guys home. Then they knew where she and Dez lived, and Dez said that was sketch. Troi agreed. So was going to someone’s house, though. But she had to get home and she wasn’t going to ride the metro. This late, in her state? Yeah, no. She would call a cab. Troi dug in her pocket for her money and her money and her id she had in a thin, leather wallet. Her ID was there....and so was eight dollars. Eight dollars would get her nowhere. Fucking A. She hadn’t planned on drinking this much or being left alone. Troi held her sidekick up and scrolled through her contacts. She called her go-to people, her two best friends that she knew could call in this this situation and neither of them answered their phone tonight. Troian groaned. Tonight of all nights. “Whaaaat? Really?” She slurred to herself quietly. “Fuck....who can I call...” _Oh, I know! I’ll call Farrah. She and farrah had been good friends for a while._  
  
The girl scrolled down, she scrolled up, she scrolled down again, completely through her contacts. Where the hell was Farrah’s name? It was like it had disappeared right off her contact list. Crap. She was going to have to do this by memory. _Clearly_.  
  
She began putting in digits, and she was pretty sure that was Farrah’s number....it had to be. It sure did look like Farrah’s number. It felt like Farrah’s number. It also felt like she was gonna be hella hungover tomorrow because she feeling realllll good right now. The phone rang once, twice, three times, four times-- “Jesus, Farrah, answer your phon--”  
  
“Hello?” A groggy, thick voice said. She must have been asleep.  
  
“Farrah! Hey!”  
  
“Who?” A very sleepy Patrick mumbled into the phone. What time was it? He squinted at his clock radio, trying to make out the numbers through his blurry vision. “  
  
“I’m so sorry if I woke you up, s-shit--” Troian ran a palm over her face. “It’s Troi, I was---”  
  
“Who?” Patrick repeated, still half asleep. Was this some kind of a joke? He glanced at his caller ID in the darkness. She wasn’t anyone he knew. Was she a fan or something? Fuck. If Pete had given out his phone number again, he was going to punch him in the throat. Then in the dick. As the girl on the line spoke, her words ran together, and she was either a great actress or she was incredibly wasted.  
  
“It’s Troi, I’m kind stuck downtown and I’m suuuuuuuuper wasted, and I know it’s late, but if you come get me, I’ll bake you cookies and smoke you up!”  
  
“Uh...I think you might’ve called the wr---” The boy tried to get out, but the girl was talking too fast and too drunkenly to really pay attention.  
  
“Please? I know it’s late, but you would mind coming to get me? I’m really not comfortable riding the metro back home alone and I just---I can give you gas money as soon as I get home and I would owe you forever and ever, please?”  
  
Patrick waited for her to stop speaking. For just one freaking moment. This wasn’t funny anymore. “This isn’t Farrah,” He said sleepily, the irritation evident in his voice.  
  
“Oh, well, then why are you answering her phone? Is she there? Can you please tell her I’m over here and I really need a ride and I would love her forever.”  
  
The boy on the other lined just sat in silence. She was so drunk she didn’t even realize he had never even met a Farrah in his life. He sighed in frustration.  
  
“Please?” Troian repeated. “I just wanna get home, and oh---hang on, my telefono is buzzing--pinchi madre, it’s dying! Damn, please come get me? I don’t have any money, and the metro is forty minutes to the house and I drunk, and I, swear, swear, sweaaaaaar, swear I’ll make it up to you, but my phone is dying and I can’t call anyone else, I’m downtown at THEATTIC----”  
  
She heard a familiar silence and she knew her phone had died. She dropped her head and sighed. Now what the hell was she going to do? With no phone, she had no contacts. She wasn’t sure how long she sat against the wall of the alley, but after what felt like twenty minutes, which was really just about eight, she retreated to the front entranced of the place and decided to wait in a better lit area. The cold was actually sobering her up and not in a good way. The girl pulled out another cigarette, her thoughts a mish mash of music and flashing memories of the night and worry about what the hell she was going to do now. If she had been sober, she would have hitched a ride. Guess she was going to have to wait until she was.  
  
Twenty minutes or so later, a black Jetta pulled up to the temporary loading zone in front of The Attic. The car rolled down it’s window and a man with sandy blonde brown hair and a sleep depraved look about him, rolled down the window. He stared out at the scatter of people hanging out in front of the bar.  
  
“Troi?” He called out the window, unsure of who he was looking for, or what on earth had possesed him to do something a crazy and heading to a stranger’s rescue. A stranger that would probaly mace him but he had felt bad she she had mentioned that her phone was dying and that she had no money. That really wasn’t a situation anyone wanted to be in at this time of night, especially while wasted in downtown Chicago.  
  
“Troi?” He repeated louder, hoping someone would approach the car and he wouldn’t be told to scram. If he stayed too long, he was liable to get a ticket for sitting in a no parking zone.  
  
Her voice was being called, but not by a familiar voice. Troi stood awkwardly and looked around the street, half confused.  
  
Patrick peered out into the street. Had someone came to help her out? Nope. A girl with a cigarette in hand, long black hair ran up to the car. “Farrah?” She asked peering inside. Patrick stared at the girl. He was suddenly wide awake and feeling very breathless. His stomach took a small stumble. He stared at the girl leaning into his window and blinked. Ho. Ly. Smokes. She was no average looking girl, did not posses features that someone might want for the average American Magazine, but something about her had him at a loss for words.  
  
“Who are you?” She asked him, confused. And where was Farrah? Then her eyes widened. “Oh, I know who you are!” She said looking as if she had just seen a ghost. “Holy fuck.” Ther was no way that that was who she thought it was. She was drunk, her mind was playing tricks on her. As if Patrick Stump, singer of one of her favorite pop punk bands was really offering her a ride.  
  
Tripppppin.  
  
No, but he did look familiar. Yeah, browning blonde hair--long shaggy hair, at that, and sideburns to match.  
  
“You do?” Patrick’s stomach took a dive. Oh, God, he had picked up a fan. She was going to be crazy. He looked around alarm, searching his brain for an escape plan.  
  
“Yeah,” Troi smiled. “You’re Farrah’s boyfriend!”  
  
He stared at her. “No.”  
  
She wrinkled her nose. “Then who the hell are you?”  
  
Patrick lifted his brows and he blinked. In a simple moment he had gone from being the target to feeling very self conscious. I mean who the hell rescued a stranger? “.....Uh---Oh, well----I’m sorry---this--is gonna sound---weird, but...you called my phone earlier and you thought I was some girl named Farrah. I tried to tell you I wasn’t,” He shot her a pointed look. “But you really didn’t get that, and then you told me your phone was dying,” he blinked again as he spoke, wondering if he looked like the biggest creep of all time and was about to get arrested.  
  
“And I felt really bad, so I drove down to tell you that I will give you a ride home if you still want one.” He searched for anything to add because creepy really wasn’t his general setting. “Or if you’re more comfortable, I can just let you borrow my phone and we can make sure you get home okay. I swear this isn’t like some weird ass, jack the ripper-creep thing.”  
  
Boy that was a lot of talking.  
  
Troian looked at him in surprise, but a small smile widened her lips. “Wow...” Yep, she said, definitely still drunk.  
  
“Okay. Well. Wasn’t thinking you were gonna murder me until you mentioned that, but--”  
  
Patrick’s face dropped, the color seeping from his skin.  
  
Troi put her hands out. “Joking, I’M JOKING--” She said quickly. “That’s really, really nice of you--holy shit--” She shook her head, astonished at his alleged generosity and ran a hand through her hair. He seemed genuine, but what did she know? She was drunk. Against her better judgement she was inclined to take his offer. She really needed a ride home and he didn’t seeeeeem to emanate any murderous qualities...  
  
“I’m sorry I made you come down here.” She said, leaning into his window again. “You don’t even know me.” Hmm, a creeper would probably react to that kind of comment.  
  
“Yeah, I know,” he said, smiling awkwardly and glancing into his rearview mirror for any signs of the 504. “but I guess---I just felt bad---look, I know this is _weird_. And I probably wouldn’t get in my car with me either, so---” He might as well apologize and leave her be...  
  
Troian pulled open the passenger door and slid in without a hitch. “You should probably go, it’s a no parking zone,” she told him, clicking in her seat belt. Patrick stared at her in amazement before he put his car back in drive. They took off and he snuck one more glance at her as they drove. This was insane. He was driving off with someone he had met over the phone. Madness. Pete would love it.  
  
“This is both the weirdest and the funniest thing that has ever happened to me.” Patrick commented.  
  
“I had a panda lick me once,” Troi grinned. Ahh, that was a good story.  
  
Patrick lifted a brow. “Yeah, can’t top a panda....how did....?”  
  
“Long story, I don’t wanna bore you.” she said, reaching out to his radio. Actually it was a really good story, just really long, and she needed to be sober to really tell it right. Patrick felt an immediate sense of protection of his stereo as she turned it on but he said nothing and held back. Let her pick something. He wanted to see what she would put on. To his surprise, she fiddle around with the stations before finally settling on rock station that jammin the Red Hot Chili Peppers. He smiled in approval. She took the liberty of singing along, and she wasn’t bad either.  
  
_“Is the city I live in, the city of angels,”_ she sang to Patrick.  
_“Lonely as I, together we cry....”  
_  
The beat dropped. She played an invisble high hat.  
  
_“I drive on her streets  
'Cause she's my companion  
I walk through her hills  
'Cause she knows who I am,”_  
  
Troi nodded to the song and sang alone and she grinned as Patrick tapped his hands on the wheel. He wanted to sing, she could it in his face. She threw her head forward and sang.  
  
_“--I don't ever want to feel  
Like I did that day,”_  
  
Patrick joined in and together they rocked an imaginary stage for the streets of Chicago.  
  
_“Take me to the place I love  
Take me all the way.”_  
  
They grinned at each other as the song dipped into the next verse and he tried not to smile too widely. As he looked at the street signs in the dark and hopped onto a short looping street. “Okay, uh...where do you live then...Troi?”  
  
“Near Addison, About ten minutes away, maybe fifteen. I usually take the metro so it’s about forty five minutes, but it’s way faster by car.”  
  
“Oh, I know Addison!” Patrick said, nodding as he took a right turn, suddenly accelarating with the speed of a driver who knew the route he had to take. Yeah, he knew all about Addison. He had a friend who lived over there. A bass player for a band called TAI they sometimes played with. He was there all the time. In fact, Adam was probably home now.  
  
“Yeah?” She asked, “Cool. Yeah, just off of Palmer Street.”  
  
Patrick nodded. “No problem. Got it. So, Troi, is it just Troi or is than short for...?”  
  
“Troian,” she said nodding.  
  
“Cool.”  
  
“I guess I should have asked before I got in your car. What’s your name?”  
  
“Patrick.”  
  
“Patrick what?”  
  
“Patrick Stump.”  
  
Her eyes lit up and she lifted her brows but she said nothing. He was definitely not Farrah’s boyfriend. What was the guys name, even? Reggie? Roger? Carl? FOCUS. She snuck another glance at him but kept calm. Even in the state she was in, she knew fangirling was a bad idea. She just smiled and nodded. Her favorite singer was sitting next to her. In a car. Driving. Talking to her----- “Nice to meet you, Patrick.”  
  
_Nice to motherucking meet you, holy shit, I might die right now. If I do, I want him to sing Golden at my funeral. STOP. He is a normal person. You are probably making faces as you talk to yourself. Stop it._ She smiled at him quickly and straightened up. The time for fanatics was not now.  
`  
“Likewise, Troian...so what happened to your ride, tonight?”  
  
“She met a guy who could do the cha-cha real well. Take it back now ya’ll!” She danced in her seat. “Two hops this time, two hops this time. Right foot, two stomp. Left foot, two stomps!” She laughed and so did Patrick, unable to hold in his amusement.  
  
“I didn’t really think my situation through until after she left. And by that point I was screwed. She’s not the type to answer her phone once she’s found more...spirited activities.”  
  
“Well that blows.”  
  
Troian nodded and smiled. “Yeah, no, she’s a good friend. Besides, I’m having a blast. We have the Chili Peppers jammin, we’re getting our karoke on. There is a fine ass boy sitting next to me.” She shrugged. “You win some, and you lose some.” Okay, drunk self, get a hold of your compliments before you spill the beans.  
  
Patrick gave her a curious grin. “Did you win this one or did you lose it?”  
  
Troian grinned before she looked out the window, hoping the darkness did not reveal her blushing cheeks. “Definitely won,” she said, nodding. “You’re pretty cool, Patrick. Thanks so much for waking up and getting out of bed to pick up a complete stranger. You’re definitely my hero. I owe you. This scenario could have gone to like, _Silence of the Lambs_ level creepy, like phew----I SO appreciate you not being a psycho killer--”  
  
“C’est que cest!” The boy grinned.  
  
They looked at each other and sang loudly. “Fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-fa-better! Run, run, run, run, run awaaaay.” They laughed, their voices filling up the car. He had such a nice laugh; so hearty and sweet, almost melodius. She smiled at this boy she had met tonight and he finally caught on to the fact that he was being stared at by a pretty girl. Silence filled the car and she looked away akwardly. Patrick wasn’t too worried.  
  
“I do believe you told me you would, _and I quote,_ bake me cookies and smoke me up.”  
  
“Sounds like something I’d say.”  
  
“Offer still stand?”  
  
“Absolutely! Thought I probaby shouldn’t bake anything until I’m sober....except myself. Us.” She said, catching herself and grinned. “You down?” What was she doing? _Whoa, whoa, whoa, screamed her conscience. You’re just gonna invite your favorite singer into your home just like that? Like he’s your neighbors who dropped by for some sugar? This is madddddness._  
  
Next to her, Patrick was having a similar monologue of his own.  
  
_This is crazy._ This was absolutely crazy and terrifyingly fun for some reason. Perhaps it was the mystery of not knowing what would happen, or perhaps the tension of knowing that she was a complete stranger and he did not care. Maybe it was because he was so calm and into He knew it was risque, but whatever it was, he wanted to see where it lead.  
  
“Fuck it! I’m down!” Patrick agreed with a light chuckle. Maybe it was that she was drunk as hell and he didn’t have to be quite so confident. Or maybe he actually felt comfortable for once, he wasn’t quite sure.  
  
*  
_Fifteen minutes later  
_  
They were sitting in her living room, Patrick on one end of the couch, a beer in his hand wondering how the hell he had gotten into this situation (by choice, duh!) and if he was doing the right thing. He knew the safe thing would have been to just drop her off and go, but just leaving wasn’t an option. He wanted to be her friend, to get to know her. A couple of hours ago, he would have argued that this sort of epic circumstance was something he only heard about. Now he was living it. The boy took a sip of his bottled beer and leaned into Troi who was sitting criss-cross applesauce on the sofa next to him.  
  
She took a sip of her water and set it back on the coffee table next to her phone that was playing pandora quietly.  
  
“Sorry it’s not...cleaner...” She said, wrinkling her nose. Patrick just shook his head. He lived with three other guys, four if you counted Dirty who had his own place but chose to slum in theirs. “This is nothing. I’ve got plates in my living room that I’m pretty sure were there BEFORE I moved in.”  
  
“Ew!” Troi laughed. Now that she was home, she was ten times more comfortable. It was funny actually, because she was normally so shy. Right now she had liquid courage bubbling in her viens, making everything that happened a hundred times more entertaining. Had she been in this situation earlier today, she’d probably sitting here in silence, afraid to make conversation. Funny how self esteem worked.  
  
In her lap were was a small zip lock bag filled with herb and two uncut blunts. As they talked, she skillfully broke up what she needed, looking down every couple of seconds until she was holding up two blunts ready to smoke. Patrick lifted a curious brow but smiled. He wasn’t normally a smoker. Every now and then, when Joe managed to pursuade him they would hot box the bathroom, or Joe’s car but usually it wasn’t his thing. Tonight he was feeling young and reckless. Patrick nodded slowly and picked up the lighter by her side. He sparked the flame for her and she smiled before lifting the blunt to her lips to flame.  
  
“Gracias,” she puffed and inhaled a large cloud of smoke. The girl held her breath, the smoke settling into her chest and she held the blunt out in offer. If he didn’t want to smoke, that was okay, too. More for her. She was never one to pressure others.  
  
Patrick took the blunt and hit it, sucking in a large breath. Immediately his lungs were filled and he coughed, white smoke draping over the both of them. He burst into cough-filled-laughter and so did she. “Not much of a smoker?” She asked.  
  
“Rarely,” he said, patting his chest. “My boy loves to smoke but I’m kind of a lightweight. Is that the right word?”  
  
She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s all good. Just chill and do what feels comfortable.”  
  
Patrick lifted his eyes to her and nodded. “Thanks....so, Troi. You mentioned you had a roommate. Guy or....?” the tint in his cheeks rose but damnit, he wanted to know. As he passed the blunt back, she listened and took her hit quickly.  
  
“Nah, she’s a girl.” She said, sounding breathless as she held in the smoke. “Total Bae.” She exhaled and breathed. “Her name is Deizen.” Troi nodded. “She’s cool as fuck. We’re both studying at *Santiago University.” The two continued to pass the blunt back and forth as they smoked and chatted. With each second, the living room grew hazier with a layer of smoke and their eyes began to relax.  
  
“Oh, cool, what are you studying?”  
  
“I’m a writer and a photography major. She’s into physics. Engineering, smart people shit.” Patrick giggled aloud. Oh, _fuck_ , he was stoned.  
  
“Oh, yeah, totally, smart people shit.” Patrick pretended to agree and nodded sadly. “And you, you lowly writer. You’re just trying to make it each day.”  
  
“Exactly.” Troi wiped away a fake tear. “I’m so glad someone understands!” She made a dramatic wretching sound and they both ended in laughter. The blunt had ended up in her hands again and she took another hit.  
  
“But yeah, no, that’s really cool. Writing.” He said as he took the blunt. “And photography,” he added. “That takes some major talent.”  
  
“Yeah, it’s pretty great. I dunno about talent, but I try. The University has a darkroom we’re allowed to use and it’s amazing.” Troi snorted at herself. “I sounded like a recuiter’s ad.”  
  
Patrick chuckled. “Yeah, you do.” He hit the blunt, getting in a good rip and was pleased that he didn’t cough like the first time. Joe always teased him about being a non smoker. It was probably a good thing he wasn’t around right now. He’d probably wife Troi just for being able to roll.  
  
He passed back the bud which had slowly gone from a full blunt to a small and hot thing between his fingers. “I don’t want that anymore, that thing is hot.”  
  
Troi laughed and killed the blunt, never flinching at the object between her fingers and when she was done, she crushed it into a tiny ball and dropped it into her ash tray.  
  
“Newbie,” she teased, picking up her water. She took a long drink and soon they were sitting in silence, both unsure of what to say next.  
  
“So why’d you do it?” Troi asked, looking sideways at him.  
  
“Do what?” Patrick fiddled with his thumbs.  
  
“Why--” she said, standing up. “Did you pick me up? I’m just gonna open the screen door, let some smoke out.”  
  
Patrick nodded as she slid open the curtains and the giant glass doors. “I don’t know....You just called, and I felt like it was my duty to do something.” He rubbed the back of his neck and flushed. “To be honest, this isn’t something I normally do. This is more of my friend Pete’s style.”  
  
“Oh? Why not you?”  
  
“Cause...” Patrick chuckled. “Pete is the crazy one. He’s all about madness and adventures.”  
  
Troi came back and sat down next to him. “And what are _you_ about?”  
  
He thought for a moment. “Music, and hot tea. My macbook.” He shrugged. “Ghostbusters. A little star wars, too. And I am ALL about pepperoni pizza.” Mmmm, Pizza....yeah, he was definitely baked.  
  
Patrick’s face lit up with a smile and she grinned. “I’ll take Star Wars and Pizza over madness anyday.”  
  
“Same here.”  
  
“Oh, man!” he said excitedly, waving his hands. “I actually heard the best Star Wars joke the other day!”  
  
Troi turned to him excitedly and waited. Patrick cleared his throat and even tugged on his collar a little. “Tell me....why did the Jedi cross the road?” Troi lifted a brow. “I don’t know, tell me.”  
  
“To get the dark side!” Patrick erupted into giggles and Troi ran her palm over her face before she began to laugh. Terrible or not, it was really funny.  
  
She let out a howl of laughter, her fist coming down to pound her knee in delight. “Holy shit, I can’t even---” She shook her head and laughed. “That was awful,” she told him with a smile. Patrick matched the expression and chuckled, exposing his teeth in a wide and adorable smile.  
  
“Yeah, well, I’m a singer not a comedian,” he told her. His bad jokes actually weren’t so bad. They were making her laugh, so technically they weren’t that awful. Troi nodded to him and crossed her legs to her comfortable, leaning in towards him.  
  
“A really good one, stick with it. Jokes are not your thing,” she teased. “I’m kidding. I bet I could think of a worse joke than that.”  
  
“Prove it.” They had breezed right past the topic of his singing, though she evidently was familiar with him. He had wanted to ask how familiar but that would have sounded vain anyway. Plus she wasn’t acting like a deranged fan (not that there were many) and honestly, it wasn’t an important topic yet. They’d only just met. For all he knew he might never see her again. Okay, that was bull, he was already trying to decide how to ask her out.  
  
She rolled her eyes and grinned, her gaze turning away for a moment as she grinned and searched her brain for something cheesy. “...ooh, okay! I got one.” She shifted in her seat and got comfy again before putting both hands out and smiled coyly.  
  
“What does a nosey pepper do?” She held her breath and waited for an answer.  
“I dunno, what?” Patrick gave her a shrug.  
“Get jalapeño business!” Troi chuckled, a grin curving her lips. Patrick shook his head, his sight lingering on the way the shade of her mouth. He forced himself to meet her eyes and smiled. “No way. That was adorable at best.”  
“Ugh,” She gave him a faux glare despite the fact that she was trying not grin at being called ‘adorable’ and let out a dramatic breath. She was silent for a second and a half, then she sat up, casually, as if they had been in the middle of another conversation. “So this guy---with a premature ejaculation problem,” She nodded as she were irritated, “comes out of nowhere!”  
  
Patrick snorted at the response, thankfully he hadn’t been taking a drink, and burst into laughter, his voice deep and in perfect pitch as expected. “No, you did not!” He howled, completely losing his shit. The boy was in stitches. Troi was pretty sure she had never seen someone laugh and been this in awe. She couldn’t help it, his hysterics were contagious. She cracked up as well and for a full moment they laughed loudly, their delightment filling her living room. Troi saw this as her cue to go on and she nodded.  
  
“And why was six afraid of seven? Huh, HUH? You wanna know why?”  
  
Patrick shook his head. “Because seven ate---” She shook her head back.  
  
“Because seven was a well known SIX offender.” She said pointing at him, her voice very serious. Patrick paused for a split moment, long enough for the joke to settle, and he howled again, his head throwing back. He didn’t give a damn who heard; these jokes were horrible. Horrible and perfect. “Oh, God, stop,” He said through laughter, “Stop---”  
  
“You know, my friend recently got crushed by a pile of books...” She shook her head and sighed. “But she’s only got her shelf to blame.”  
  
Patrick laughed lighter now, coming down from the laugh attack and coughed, his cheeks red, a grin from cheek to cheek as he continued to randomly chuckle. “Oh man. Comedy is so NOT your forte,” he joked. “You win. Those were terrible.”  
  
She grinned at him, blushing and settled into his side, his arm around her casually. Like they had done this a thousand times. Neither of them acknowledged the mutual gesture but both were having mini panic attacks because of it. Troi leaned her head on him for a moment and then began to chatter away. Two hours later, and so many questions later that Troi probably wouldn't remember them the next day, they could barely keep their eyes open. She smiled at him, dozing off. "I am so sleepy."  
  
"So am I," Patrick breathed, looking very exhausted. You can stay..." she mumbled. "If you want."  
  
"I can steal your couch?" He mumbled back, a small smile on his lips. She yawned. She wanted to stay up all night but her body suggested otherwise.  
  
"You can share it with me." She said through a yawn.  
  
He gently pulled her a little closer and shifted in his seat so he was sitting longways on the couch and Troi leaned back into him. He smiled and she settled into him. Driving anywhere was unthinkable, he just wanted to sleep. The two closed their eyes, sleep hitting Troi like a ton of bricks but it like a quiet force of wind for Patrick. He was sleepy but his mind was racing simultaneously. With time, they were both passed out cold, and sometime later, his phone still playing pandora, died.  
  
  
  
  
  


Copyright 2015 ©


	2. I've Got A Dark Alley And A Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth (Summer Song)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Party continues with 3/4 of Fall Out Boy, Brendon Urie (Panic! At The Disco), Adam T. Siska (The Academy Is...), HeyChris, DIRTY, and more friends. Troi realizes Pete isn’t how she pictured. Tension builds between them.

When she awoke, her first thought was how much her head was pounding. A deep, sharp pain spread from the top of her head outwards.There was also deep aching in her jaw, she felt like she had been grinding her teeth all night. Fuck, what had she even done last night? She vaguely remembered the loud flashing of club lights and glow in the dark sticks, and she remembered hugging Dez goodnight, and for some odd reason the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Troi turned and snuggled by reflex and in the next split second, her eyes snapped open and she jumped out of her own skin to look at where she was and who she was with. She was definitely home, and this was definitiely her couch, but that was a boy laying next to her, and she definitely didn’t remember inviting him over.

Someone with reddish brown hair, perhaps it was once blonde, had their face buried into the side of the couch, tuffs of hair sticking up. Who the hell? Troi tentatively poked the stranger in the shoulder but he continued to snore softly. The girl was torn between waking this guy and letting him sleep a little longer. He looked so warm and peaceful whoever he was. But no, see, this was her house, and he was a stranger, so he had to wake up. STRANGER DANGER made her think twice. Who on earth had she brought home and what mistakes had she made the night before?

Poke. 

At least if anyone had to do the walk of shame, it wouldn’t be her.

Poke.

 

Poke, poke.

 

He stirred, his left arm moving in reflex to have heartedly swat her away and Troi quickly got up, ready to defend herself, her fists up in boxing stance. A sleepy, but unmistakable Patrick Stump rolled over and reached towards her. He missed and she raised a brow, her arms crossing in denial as he opened his eyes. This was some crazy awesome joke or tragically ending dream. There was just no way, it couldn’t be him. Except that it looked like him, right down to that damn adorable fedora sitting on her coffee table. 

 

“Who the hell are you?” Troi demanded rather forcefully. She was in last nights clothes (and tomorrow’s dreams), her dark, long hair a poofy and tangled mess. Her eyeliner was smudged, but hey, yesterday’s eyeliner could be today’s smokey eye if she really believed. She was short and tan and rather small, and she was absolutely, without a doubt, not intimidating at all. Sleep still lazily lounged under her intense greenish blue eyes. Patrick scrambled to stand, fumbling a bit in the process. 

 

“Whoa--” He threw out his hands. 

 

Troi grabbed the first thing her hands landed on: a thick leather bound book and she prepared to launch it his way. “Hello! Who are y---” Her words cut off mid sentence. Her eyes opened wide, her mouth dropping into a small “o.” Troi took a step back in disbelief. Yeah, that was him. Her stomach suddenly sprinted into what felt like a double sommersault.

 

Patrick held a couch pillow up in defense. The two stared at each other, the remnants of the night slowly forming together. Troi, obviously a having a technical malfunction, continued to stare. She looked like a deer in headlights, one arm paused in midair.

 

“Hey, whoa---My name is Patrick---you invited me---remember?” He asked quickly. “Last night?” 

 

Troi narrowed her eyes and a flood of words left Patrick’s mouth. “YouInvitedMeOverLastNightWhenYouDidn’tHaveaRideHomeFromTheBar--” His words ran together, and her anger quickly dissapated into confusion. “....What?” She said.

 

Patrick lowered the pillow. “Last night, you called me thinking I was Farrah and you asked me for a ride home. Remember? Drinking, The Attic?” Troi nodded silently. Somehow, this was all making sense and it seemed to be real. She stared in disbelief. “Patrick...Stump....?” She said, unable to process who was standing in front of her. 

 

“That would be my name.”

 

“And you picked me up?”

 

“Yup.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because you called me, and you had no money and no way to get home.”

 

“But I didn’t call my friends?”

 

“Actually, you thought you were calling Farrah and I tried to tell you that I wasn’t her, but, you are rather talkative when you drink.” He grinned to her.

 

This was all too bizarre to comprehend. Was this some kind of a joke?

 

“....And then...I let you stay the night?”

 

He nodded, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck and a crimson shade tinted his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t---I guess---I didn’t realize you might not remember. This is really awkward....do you want me to get out?”

 

“No!” She said a little quickly, and of course, instantly hated herself. Patrick smirked at the response.

 

“So...” she looked mighty confused. “Let me get this straight...last night I called you? And asked you for a ride because I couldn’t get home? Then I invited you to...stay?”

 

“Actually, you invited me in to smoke first. Then it got late, THEN you said I could stay.”

 

She eyed him warily, wracking her brain for evidence of the night before but all she got was dimly lit images of laughter and chatter. All at once, the color nearly drained from her face. “Did we...?”

 

Patrick didn’t understand at first. “Did we what? .........Oh...OH!” He said, lifting his brows. “No!” His eyes went wide. “I mean---not that I wouldn’t---I would, you’re really hot---I just--not that that’s what I was trying to--do---” He floundered for the words, red tinting his cheeks as he panicked. Troian smiled, enchanted by his lack of smooth talking and took a step forward, her shock slowly but surely beginning to fade. He was adorable. If this was his reaction, she couldn’t find a real reason to be worried. The raven haired girl grinned. She had so many questions, so many things to ask and not a single thing had to do with being in a band. 

 

“Breakfast?” She said, shrugging a shoulder in suggestion. “I’m starving. How about I make some food and you can tell me all of the dumb things I said or did last night.”

 

“You didn’t do anything dumb last night,” he smiled.

 

“Uhuh, sure. I was so wasted that I can’t even remember the last fourteen hours but I didn’t do anything dumb? Please. Don’t be afraid to share.” She said, her words fading into laughter.

 

“Well, we did find out that you are a horrible comedian.”

 

Troi lazily flopped a hand. “Oh, that’s a given. I could have told you that!”

 

“I think you did, actually, but I goaded you into entertaining me anyway.” Troi let out a dramatic sigh that meant ‘I told you so’ and he followed her. As they spoke, they drifted into Troi’s decent sized kitchen and she began to rustle around in her refridgerator. Patrick took a seat at her kitchen bar and leaned into the counter. His hair was tousled from sleep, his skin warm and pink and his glasses slid towards the front of his nose. Troi set down a cup in front of him. “Drink?”

 

“Milk?” 

 

Troi nodded and grabbed the half drunk gallon of milk, poured a glass and set it before Patrick. He lifted the glass silently and watched her over the rim of the glass as she began to turn knobs and start the stove. There was something awfully relaxing about the scene. The sound of butter on a heated pan sizzled in the air, and Patrick’s stomach growled with the hunger for more excitement rather than food. This was the first meeting he had had with someone interesting who wasn’t trying to readily get into his pants (or so it seemed). And not that Patrick had a real worry about people getting into his pants, he was quite fond of sex, but when that was what the majority of people who met you wanted, it got old, real fast. Okay, maybe it didn’t get that old. Sex was awesome, and he wasn’t gonna lie to himself about it. As she began to cook, Patrick tentatively pulled out his cellphone which he knew from experience alone was going to be littered up and down with messages from Pete.

 

Sure enough, nine messages were waiting affectionately. They went a little something like this:

 

Pete: Lunchy.

CB: 555-0461

 

Pete: Lunchbox.

CB: 555-0461

 

 

Pete: PATRICK.

CB: 555-0461

 

 

Pete: ???????

CB: 555-0461

 

 

Pete: WHERE DID YOU GO, I CAME TO CUDDLE AND YOU WERE GONE.

CB: 555-0461

 

 

Pete: HELLO???!!?!!111

CB: 555-0461

 

 

Pete: ARE YOU ALIVE?

CB: 555-0461

 

 

Pete: WHEN YOU COME BACK, CAn you stop and bRing me WAFFLES. K. THANKS.

CB: 555-0461

 

 

Pete: Okay, but it’s nearly one p.m and you are gone. I locked myself out of the house again, where is the spare key?

CB: 555-0461

 

Several rather irritated looking smileys followed. Patrick snorted to himself and began to text Pete quickly. “Sup?” He texted. He wondered if Pete had gotten into the house or if he had ended up turning to one of the guys for rescue. If he hadn’t gotten in, he had probably gone to Joe’s, unless Joe was still passed out. It was early in the day, so it was a possibility. Andy was definitely awake, though. He was an early bird. Six a.m. crunches and fruit medley was all the reason in the world that Andy needed to be up early. Patrick wouldn’t have minded going back to sleep, but breakfast with a pretty girl was nice, too.

 

Patrick stifled laughter and quickly responded, hoping it wasn’t too late.

 

Patrick: It’s under one of those fake rock things. IDK which one.

CB: 555-0461

 

 

Pete: I got it. Joe let me into his house. 

CB: 555-0461

 

 

Pete: Alright, I broke in, but he’ll be okay.

CB: 555-0461

 

 

He rubbed his eyes with balled fists and yawned, and she couldn’t help it. She stared like he was the ninth wonder of the world; her face in awe. Patrick laughed sheepishly and set his phone down. “What?”

 

Troi lifted her index finger. Patrick’s eyes followed her hand and she slowly leaned into him and pushed his glasses up his nose, a tiny smile dancing on her lips. Patrick’s breathing went shallow and he stared up at her blankly. She wasn’t sure how long they stayed in that position but after what felt like an enternity and she pulled away. “You’re cute.” She said, smiling. The color red painted his cheeks. Patrick ducked his head and looked away from her. “I am?”

 

It was usually her asking that question, searching for assurance, for affirmation that she was worthy of someone’s else desire. For the first time, she heard the question being direction to her, instead of coming from her, and a jolt of adrenaline shot her in the gut. Whatever she said, it had to be good.

 

Ha. Hahahahaha. Troi be smooth? In his presence?

 

She gave him a deadpan stare. “You’re the lead singer of one of the biggest pop punk bands in the world and you have to ask?”

 

He looked at her innocently and hot damn, she melted.

 

She broke into a grin. “Well YEAH,” she with a smile. “Of course! Come on!” She tugged his fedora over his eyes and laughed brightly. His picked his hat back up, focusing on his glass of milk so he wouldn’t blush more. Sure, girls gave him compliments all the time. Usually it was something along the lines of “Ohemgee, I love you! Hey, you’re in the band, right, fall out boys? ---Oh my god, are you Jonah Hill?” 

 

“You’re like...a really sexy carebear---” Patrick suddenly looked worried. “I’m kidding!” She said quickly and giggled. Patrick swatted in her direction. 

 

“That’s not what you said last night.”

 

“Oh, yeah? What did I say last night.”

 

“Pretty sure you called me the sexiest man alive.”

 

“Pretty sure that’s not something I would say.” She teased.

 

They both laughed loudly. 

 

***

 

4:52 pm

 

They had been hanging out in her living room, when Dez finally walzted in, still looking at good as she had the night before. It was amazing the things she could do. She was a like a vampire that never aged, never looked out of place. Except she didn’t sparkle like a 14 karat diamond, and Troi was partcularly glad. She turned to look at her biff who was throwing her long jacket over the mail table by the door rather than hanging her coat on the designated coat rack. 

 

Patrick was heavily invested in the film and murmuring the words along with Al Pacino. He narrowed those green eyes of his and leaned forward, his hand balled into a fist as he spoke to the T.V.

 

“What you lookin' at? You all a bunch of fuckin' assholes.” Patrick scowled at an insivible audience. “You know why You don't have the guts to be what you wanna be? You need people like me. You need people like me so you can point your fuckin' fingers and say, "That's the bad guy!” He pointed his finger with faux hardness in his eyes but his moment was stolen by a vixen wearing four inch stilletos.

 

“LUCY, I’M HOME!” She announced at the top of her lungs and turned to the room. Troi grinned from her spot on the couch next to Patrick. 

 

“Ricky, you got some ‘splanin’ to do,” Troi told her best friend and shot her a look that she meant was obviously trying to figure out where Dez had gone last night by simply staring at her hard enough. Nothing. Fuck, her EPSN was off. Dez shook her head because she knew exactly what Troi was trying to do and grinned. “Ooh, we’ve got company?” She said asked excitedly, rounding the couch for a better view. Troi never brought guys home, this would b a fun roast. 

 

Patrick shot her a smile and lifted his hand to wave and Dez shrieked loudly, falling backwards onto the single person sofa. Patrick’s eyes went wide. Dez’s hands came up to her chest. “Holy buttery niples, you’re P Steezy!” Dez stood with excitement and found herself sitting between Troi and the musician. 

 

“Hey there,” Patrick said, clearly embarrassed, but smiling nonetheless. It didn’t matter if fans did this to him on the daily or how many times he was on T.V, girls fawning over him was never going to be a feeling he got used to.

 

“PATRICK FUCKING STUMP.” Deizin shouted in his face.

 

He nodded, smiling again, but Troi could tell he was a little afraid. Dez had that effect on people. She was bost mesmerizing and terryfing. Like a cyclone of unicorns. 

 

Dez turned to her best friend in utterly disbelief, her jaw dropping. “Patri----”

 

“Fucking Stump,” Troi concluded calmly but in amusement. “Actually, I think, thanks to you, he’s not going to have a problem remembering his name.”

 

Patrick smirked and put out his hand. “Hi, you must be Dez.”

 

“Ahh, word travels up the ladder, I see.”

 

“Actually Troi told me.”

 

“Same difference.” She shrugged. “Sooo, guyyys,” she put both of her arms around both Troi and Patrick. “What’s up, what are we doing tonight?”

 

Troi shook her head. Patrick would about to find out alllll about Dez. Find out just how pursuasive she was, and that when she asked what someone was doing later, it was code for, you’re hanging out with me.

 

****

 

Dez was pouring up another shot. Troi was sure she wasn’t yet finished with recuperating from the last drinking session and so everytime Dez collected the room for shots, Troi pretended to be too caught in conversation to hear. In the living room, Deizin and the (now famous) Farrah were chatting awake, tall glasses of mojitos in hand. Their friend Dallas was around too, watching the boxing match on T.V while he sipped on a beer. Patrick and Troi had found solace in the kitchen but it was only matter of minutes before they were caught again and had to find a new spot. Pete was supposed to be here any moment and Patrick knew what that meant. It meant a hell of a party was about to happen. Patrick hadn’t even finished describing the idea when Pete had cut him off.

 

“I’m there,” Pete announced. “But I’m bringing Brendon. And Joe,” Pete made a shuffling sound like he was covering up the phone and talking then he reappeared. “Andy says he’d rather watch Vegan Showdown. We’ll probably head over in---Oh, hey, Sisky is here, fuck yes--Sisk----SISKY!”

 

“AY-OH!” Adam had just walked in. He highfived Joe then took his beer. 

 

Joe pouted. 

 

“Party?” Pete said, holding up his phone.

 

“Party!” Sisky said throwing the Bud Light back.

 

*

 

Half an hour later there was a very loud and ominous knock at Troi’s front door that made Dez turn down Biggie Small’s “Juicy.” Someone pounded on the door with a heavy hand and Troi lifted a brow to Patrick who shook his head. “That’s Pete. Being Pete.” He rolled his eyes. They watched from the kitchen as Dez opened the door and Pete breezed in, true to Patrick’s prediction, like he owned the place. He spread his arms wide as he sauntered in and gave Dez a look up and down. “Now this is a party, someone hook up the Jungle Juice cause it’s going down!” He was immediately followed by Brendon, Joe, and Sisky, and the time for awe and shock was lost. The boys left no time for Dez or Troi to be amazed at the musicians that filled the room; instead they all headed straight to their respective spots like they had walked this apartment before---like they weren’t all strangers---Joe wandering the room and saying hey to everyone, ---Brendon immediately pulling out two bottles of Everclear and dumping them into the nearest public beverage smiled an evil smile--and Pete---well he found Patrick like he was a bloodhound and pulled the man into a tight hug. “I went into your room this morning and you weren’t there and I was so worried.” He rested his head on Patrick’s chest and sighed. Patrick wrinkled his nose and patted Pete awkwardly on the back. Wentz didn’t let go.

 

“Pete, this is Troi. Troi, this is my best friend Pete.” Patrick mostly just motioned to Pete because the guy was hanging onto him so tightly it was all he could. Troi stared at Pete in awe. He was a beautiful as he was in gifs on tumblr. TV, too. He had great hair. Furious and pink. Holy shit, holy fuck, holy fuck, fuck, fuck, it’s Pete Wentz.

 

“Hey, how’s it going?” Troi asked casually to own surprise, putting out her hand. Pete just eyed her warily and locked his arms around Patrick’s neck like a girl refusing to go anywhere without her boo. 

 

She wasn’t sure how to react to him. Was he being funny? He looked funny. She wanted to laugh. But if he was being serious and she pissed him off, it might look really really bad for her. It was hard to react. It was Pete Wentz. Instead Troi looked to Patrick for an answer and Patrick, in turn, glared at Pete. “Stop being a dick. Say hi.”

 

“Hi,” Pete sighed and crossed his arms. “Look, let’s just be upfront okay?”

 

“You’re apartment is the shit. I’m down to party. Let’s have a good time.” He leaned into Troi and spoke very seriously. “But If you break his heart, I will punch you in the face.” Troi stared at Pete wider.

 

“PETE!” Patrick said, sounding surprised.

 

Pete smiled at Troi who just looked around in confusion. Was this foreal?

 

“Dick!” Patrick rolled his eyes.

 

“Whaaaat?” Pete whined. “I’m just sayin’. It’s my job, that’s what the best friend does---”

 

Troi blinked. She had known Patrick for what? 24 hours? His heart was nowhere near her vicinity. As if he would ever go for her, especially in a serious way. Patrick shook his head but he smiled.

 

“It wouldn’t be Pete if he didn’t threaten you.”

 

“It wouldn’t be Pete if it wasn’t over you.” She smiled.

 

“He’s protective.”

 

“Cool. Good friends are.” She smiled and so did Patrick, his face curving into a soft smile.

 

*

 

“Guys!” Joe called, throwing out his arms. He beamed at Troi and Patrick until he was in Patrick’s face, then he frowned like an old man. “Hi, hello, wanna introduce me?” He said pointedly to Patrick. “You finally find a chick who will get you to smoke and you say nothing? I am so dissapointed in you. I’ve been here almost two hours and haven’t met the hitcher.” Joe Trohman shook his head then he turned to Troi, not waiting for Patrick’s late intro. Troi could not wait to hear what he had to say. She grinned. 

 

“Hi!” 

 

“Joe.”

 

“Troi.”

 

“Heard you can roll.” This was an understatement.

 

“Heard you have mad guitar skills.” This was an understatement as well.

 

“I dig the whole operation get Trick stoned.”

 

“I dig the jewfro.”

 

“I try.”

 

“Nice work. Can I touch it?”

 

Joe bent his head forward as permission and she bounced her fingers in his curls, feeling the bounce in his hair. 

 

“So fluffy.” She patted his head then he stood up straight. 

 

Joe raised a brow, deciding to hit her with a round of randoms and see how she faired. 

 

“Rocky vs. Rambo?”

 

“Rambo, OBVIOUSLY.”

 

“Ghostbusters or Star Wars?”

 

“Star Wars.”

 

“Coke or Pepsi?”

 

“Sprite.”

 

“Cats or Dogs?”

 

“I like them both, but I don’t do animal hair all over my clothes.”

 

“Lover or fighter?”

 

“Lover.”

 

“The Avengers or The X-Men?”

 

“X-Men.”

 

“Who’s your favorite?”

 

“Definite tie between Jubilee and Rogue.”

 

He narrowed his eyes as if somewhere in his brain he was really calculating the outcome of this quiz and then nodded casually as if this happened all the time.

 

“Last one, you got a room we can hotbox?”

 

“Si, roll it up, We’ll come find you. First door to your right down the hall.”

 

Patrick watched with crossed arms. Was he jealous? Yeah. Yeah he was. Was he gonna say anything? Uh? Hello? No? He just smiled away and pretended to enjoy their conversation until Joe was turning the corner. That was one of his best friends right there, but he needed Joe to be gone with his charming personality and bad boy extorior. He wasn’t exactly making it easy for Patrick. Then again, if she wanted to flirt with him, that was her business.

 

Troi crossed her arms and pursed her lips into an amused smiled as Trohman disappeared then she turned to Patrick who had fallen quiet. It was an odd thing to like someone so quiet. Now she knew what it felt like for other people who interacted with her. She sometimes lacked words; fell silent in observation though she could not help it. Talking to other people gave her anxiety, and here she was talking to someone she actually liked. People thought it was weird she was so silent and it was. She had the words in her head but she was never sure of them and so they ended up getting spoken. And yet, if she knew you, if she was comfortable, she could somehow end up being a chatterbox and the most odd times. Then those who knew her wished she actually were silent. 

 

“What’s up, you got all serious?” She asked him and he stood up straighter, instantly smiling. “Nothing, just day dreaming about music.” He shrugged. “So you guys gonna hotbox?” He felt stupid just trying to say it.

 

“We are,” she said tugging on his hand in a burst of confidence. Liquid courage again. She wanted to master this feeling while sober. She wasn’t much of a big drinker anyway. Definitely a smoker like Joe; every damn day, buy she was smart about it. She functioned well, she aced her classes and she was on the hunt for a better job than the one she currently had. His wrapped his fingers in hers and squeezed her hand as he was led from the kitchen. It felt good, her hand entwined with his, warm; a perfect fit. As they passed the living room, Pete was howling with Troi’s friend Dallas who was taping two beers to Pete’s hands as they prepared to make him play Edward Fortyhands. Dez was blasting music. She and Farrah were messing with the radio and dancing in the living room.

 

Patrick smiled to himself, the heat rising in his cheeks, the color of mess, of youth, and innocence and he too caught whatever fire had sparked for her. As they turned the corner of the hall and headed to the door of her bedroom, he tugged her hand back and she turned in surprise. “What?” She smiled curiously, and he hesitated, unable to do anything but smile. He took a step forward, hand still wrapped in hers and she turned square to him, smiling rather coyly when her bedroom door opened. The two immediately jumped away as if they had been caught doing something frowned upon and both smiled a little too hard at Joe who was followed by a mushroom typ cloud of haze. Troi inhaled and stepped in to see her room occupied with a lot of smoke and Sisky, too. Troi smiled and nodded for Patrick to follow her and leaned against him casually as they sat on the edge of her bed. Sisky was sitting in her desk chair and Joe had slid her bean bag chair next to him. 

 

“Sup?” She smiled at Sisky. “I’m Troi.” Adam T. Siska. Of The Academy Is... Yeah, this was happening.

 

“Ohhh, you’re the one making drunk calls and stealing Pattycakes.”

 

“Dude, don’t call me Pattycakes.”

 

Sisky rolled his eyes and waved a hand at Patrick. “Let’s play a game let’s play never have I ever.” A blunt began to make it’s way around the group. Sisky started everyone off. “If you have, you take a hit. Okay, let’s see....Never have I ever....had boobs.”

 

Troi made a face that can only be described as this face: EJcfpGX

 

“Really?” She said, taking a good hit. “That’s a cheap shot, I see how you play Sisky.” The boy wiggled his eyes.

 

Troi sighed. “Never have I ever played on stage.” Bam. She stuck her tongue out at the guys. All three of them rolled their eyes and passed the smoke between themselves.

 

Joe began, eyeing Sisky like he was preparing to attack.. “Never have I ever worn an alligator suit while riding a---”

 

Someone burst in through the door. Pete took up the doorway. “CHRIS IS HERE AND WE’RE GONNA SHOOT TOMATOS AT EACH OTHER. COME ON.”

 

Both Joe and Adam (Sisky) jumped up without hesitation. Patrick smirked and gave Troi a look that meant this happened all the time and he held a hand out to her to follow. 

 

Dez and Farrah protested immediately. Blink had just been put on and this was HER SONG, Dez argued. “But, nooo, I love this song--” Pete grabbed her by the waist and pushed her forward, smirking. 

 

“Come on,” He said, “I’ll sing it to you!”

 

“Oh God, no,” Dez said sounding scared. Pete laughed. Within minutes everyone was trooping out of Troi and Dez’s apartment, some with beverages in hand. and filing out and started down the hall to the stair exit. Farrah giggled and began humming, falling into step with Pete as they led the group, her blue eyes meeting his hazel ones. Dez bobbed her head as they moved, then. Dez began to sing. 

 

“I took her out. It was a Friday night,” 

 

Troi grinned as she followed her friends, smiling at Patrick. 

 

“I wore cologne to get the feeling right...” Dez sang.

 

Farrah “whooo’d very loudly despite the time of evening. Troi joined took the next lines, grinning widely. 

 

“We started making out, and she took off my pants, 

but then I turned on the TV!” 

 

The group hummed like a really bad, off key, unorganized version of the Pitch Perfect girls with the exception of Patrick and broke out into song.

 

“And that's about the time she walked away from me

Nobody likes you when you're 23!” They cheered.

“And are still more amused by TV shows

What the hell is ADD?”

 

Pete and Dez sang to each other. Joe sang into his iPhone.

 

“My friends say I should act my age

“What's my age again?” 

Everyone sang loudly. Brendon air guitared, Dallas played the drums.

 

“What's my age again?” Everyone laughed at the fact they actually got the first verse, their boisterous and youthful laughter filling up the stair well until they reached the back exit and spilled into the Alley way. The group was buzzing with all kinds of chatter until someone brought up who was going to get pelted first. 

 

“I vote Pete,” someone said and Pete whipped around looking to see who had uttered such a devious idea.

 

“I vote Dirty,” Pete said back.

 

“He’s not even here, damn, let him get here, Pete.” Brendon laughed. Pete made a face at Brendon and laughed.

 

“I vote Pete, too,” Joe said grinning. 

 

“Fuck you guys, you I vote Brendon and Chris, when he gets here.” Pete said with a huff. Brendon shook his head quickly.

 

“Team Pete,” Troi put a fist in the air and soon everyone in the group was doing the same. 

 

“That’s not fair,” Pete whined. Patrick stifled giggles and Pete narrowed his eyes. “I vote you and I will fucking get you,” he vowed to the singer before looking at his friends who’d just arrived. “Dirrrrt, HEYChris!” Patrick looked scared for a moment and retreared farther into the group. Pete was so good at getting his way. Two familiar faces joined the circle, and the collective volume went up and everyone welcomed Chris and Dirty who were quick to catch on. They too put their fists in the air though they weren’t sure why.

 

“What are we doing.” Dirty said waving to everyone though a heavy bag of tomatoes hung from his wrist.

 

“Pete’s gonna get shot first.” 

 

“No I’m not!”

 

“PETE’S GETTING SHOT FIRST!” Dirty snickered. 

 

“Hell YES!” Chris said excitedly. “Look at this slingshot I got. This bitch is AWESOME.”

 

Pete’s eyes grew the size of saucers as Chris pulled the large slingshot from his backpack. 

 

Brendon giggled. “Let’s do this shit, Pete get up on the wall and drop your pants!”

 

“NO!” Pete whined. 

 

“You can be next to shoot---” Dirty began, and several chortles filled the air as Joe pushed Pete playfully. Pete grinned and shoved Joe towards the wall, laughing. “Go, Joe!”

 

“No, you’re going!”

Troi stopped just one foot behind the group, casually and Patrick came up beside her, his hand finding hers. She grinned to herself but kept her eyes on Pete who was going to get his ass tomatoed. This was so exciting. Pete. Tomatos. A slingshot. Asses. Aw yeah.

 

Dirty laughed as Pete tried to run to him for protection and he and he put his hand out to hold Pete back. “Pete--Pete! You can be---” He sniggered. “You can be next to shoot someone but you’re going first!” He said putting a tomato in the slingshot. Pete groaned and nodded. There was no escaping this fate. He only had but to walk the warrior’s walk and take the pelting with pride. Pete Wentz strutted to wall, huffing as he shot the group one last look over the shoulder. In that moment, she was more than sure that Pete had caught their little hand thing. He turned around and throw his hood up, spread legs apart, and put his hands on the wall.

 

Chris and Sisky giggled as they readied the slingshot and just the sound of their chuckles gave Pete chills. Just who did she think she was? Patrick was his best friend. His cuddle buddy. His damn person to flirt with. He shook in his spot, waiting for it. The Chicago air was still and cool. They alley echoed with nothing but Dirty’s giggles.

 

“Okay, it’s coming!” Dirty howled. “Oh, man, this is gonna be so good!” The group held it’s breath. Sisky and Chris were holding the sides, Dirty pulled the pouch as far back as it would go and let it rip with a rebel yell.

 

Pete clenched his body and jumped as he heard the teryfing splat of a tomato hitting the wall next to his head. It dripped, dark and gooey in the evening night, barely shining from the street lamp. “HOLY SHIT THAT WAS SO CLOSE TO MY FACE!” Pete cried, laughing hard. 

 

“Oh, fuck. Do it again!” He said through laughter, and got ready again. All he heard was whispering and this time he was not prepared as a tomato hit him square in the right ass cheek, a sharp sting clawing at his ass. Pete howled and jumped, grabbing his butt for dear life. 

 

Troi snorted and Patrick lost it, they took one look at each other and cracked up. 

 

“HOLY FUCK---HOO MY GOD--” Pete yelled, tears pouring from his eyes. 

 

“WHAT DO YOU SAY!” Dirty shouted. “WHAT DO YOU SAY!”

 

“I LOVE--MY--LIFE!” Pete cried and moaned out loud at the same time.

 

“I LOVE MY LIFE!” Dirty yelled into the night.

 

The boy sat down on his knees and then gradually fell to the ground in laughter, his hands holding his ass. “Ow---Owwhow---” He moaned and laughed at the same time. The group bubbled with laughter and they all began to cheer, Farrah throwing her arms up. “Yeeeah, Pete!”

 

He couldn’t stop laughing, it was the only thing making his ass hurt less. He stood, limping towards Dirty to replace him, and high fived Chris. “Oh, God---” Pete grinned. “Okay, who’s next...” He looked at Patrick, an evil smile on his face. “Patrick.”

 

“Oh, no! No, I am not getting pelted in the ass with fruit.” Patrick shook his head. Brendon booed and grinned. 

 

“Come onnn, come on Patrick!” Brendon sang. “No, pelt Dirty!” He said, laughing and taking a step back so no one would force him into the violent delight of the night. 

 

“DIRTYYY!!!” Joe howled. Dirty threw his arms into air. “I’ll do it! I’m not scared! I LOVE MY LIFE!”

 

***

One hour later they had all managed to file back into the complex quietly and up to Troi and Dez’s apartment. Everyone began to slowly drape themselves onto the couch, first losing shoes and jackets, some gaining bottles of water and blankets. Someone turned off the lights and Dez turned on Netflix, scrollong to a movie she didn’t catch. Troi ran to the bathroom, already debating whether she could manage to stay awake through a movie so late at night. Maybe she would knock out in her room. Or maybe she could talk to Patrick some more, that would be nice. To hear him simply speak, she’d stay awake all night. Okay, well not all night. She needed a tiny nap. 

 

She wiped her hands dry on her jeans, heading back into her living room, eyes scanning the room for Patrick---who to her suprise was cuddled up with Pete, eyes half shut from exhauston. Pete was draped over his lap and whispering something in his ear, one hand reaching up to rest on Patrick’s shoulder as they chatted to each other. Patrick nodded, his head falling towards Pete sleepily. Pete lifted his head, his eyes meeting Troi’s in the light of the T.V for just a clear moment. There was something in his eyes, something smug that said ‘I can do this, and you cannot.’ Then he turned his head again and whispered something to Patrick again then kissed his cheek. What the hell? Troi stared again, her stomach dropping. Peter was making her do that a lot. Was Pete trying to send her more than the average best friend message of violence? Oh, come on, you saw that coming. Like you had a chance. She took a step back, falling into the darkness of the hallway and retreated to her room to lie on her bed. Had Pete Wentz and her just become enemies?

 

 

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey there, guys! Thanks so much for coming back for another chapter. Who knows, maybe they will all end up being ridiculously long. (What can I say, I love character dialogue.) Anywhoo, hope you enjoyed this. More humor and romance to come. It’s really only getting started. Please, please, please review and tell me what you think! it really helps! Are Pete and Patrick a thing? Is Pete sending Troi a message? Will Mermaid man and Barnicle defeat the Dirty Bubble? Stay tuned...  
> XO  
> Smokes
> 
> P. P. S -- Sorry for the horrible spacing. I copied this from my word and the spacing went alll crazy.
> 
> Music Referenced:  
> Blink 182’s - What’s My Age Again  
> Biggie Smalls - Juicy


	3. Where Is The Tenderness?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete and Patrick start the morning off bad. New friendships are made.

The first person to wake the next morning was obvious. It was Brendon. He had the fastest recuperating body Troi would ever come to see. It was like his body was built to run on Whiskey rather than water. He fluttered his eyes open, hair ruffled and sticking up the way only hair could, a content but sleepy smile on his face and resumed the t.v show they had been watching last: Squidbillies. It had been Joe’s suggestion but everyone except Troi had stuck around for at least one episode. He loved this show, too. It was hilarious. Eventually Dallas had fallen asleep on the floor covered in bed sheets. Dez and Brendon had taken the left side of the couch, then Farrah curled up alone with her body pillow, while Pete and Patrick were cuddled over on the long side of the L shaped couch. Joe had fallen on Troi’s bean bag chair--he seemed to really enjoy it--and Sisky had fallen on asleep on the floor next to him, both his and joe’s jacket over him, face buried into a pillow.

Troi was fast asleep in her bed, curled into a little ball and dreaming about something to do with passing her driver’s test and also having to deliver tacos to people like newspapers as she drove by. It was very stressful. Everytime she thew her the food at this one house, their dream dog would come out of nowhere and catch the flying entree.

Back in the living room, Brendon settled back to watch the squids. “Whoo!” He said cheered under his breath in a southern accent, copying the main character and as the intro began. Then he looked around the room. Pete was so adorable, he had both arms wrapped around Patrick, face buried in his chest. He had personally always liked them together. From what he knew, and Pete would only tell him so much, Patrick just hadn’t been happy with Pete’s inability to commit, or to share his feelings, or something. He knew there had definitely been something between them; at some time just before the hiatus, they even tried dating, but it failed miserably. Pete couldn’t say no once in a while and it drove Patrick up the wall. He didn’t like sharing people he was dating.

Brendon couldn’t be sure what had really happened. Pete had been really vague and lyric-ey about it.  
Dez had been leaning against him, sleeping peacefully. He resisted moving because he didn’t want to wake her up. To his amusement, her hand came up to grip his shirt and he smirked to himself as allowed her to pull him close. Even in their dreams, they want me.

“Morning,” he said softly, loud enough for her to hear if she was even half awake. Her eyes snapped open and he grinned.

Next to them, Pete curled closer to Patrick and inhaled before he settled back into warmth and comfort. He could hear birds chirping but he was still mostly asleep and wanted to stay that way.

“Lunchy, you’re so warm,” Pete said sleepily. This wasn’t the first or the last time they had slept together. The van days back before TTTYG had dropped? Horrid. And cold. And no one cuddled quite like Patrick. Even when they had finally earned a tour bus, Pete still found excuses to go sleep next to Trick.

‘You’re bunk is better than mine,  
 ‘You help me sleep,’  
 ‘I don’t like being so far from you. What if someone tries to kidnap you?’  
 ‘There’s too much clothes on my bunk.’  
 ‘You sleep like music.’

By infinity on High, they were booming enough to stay in Hotels. Joe and Andy always booked a double bed rooms, but Patrick and Pete always ended up with a single king size. Two beds were useless when they both knew Pete was going to end up with his leg curled around Lunchbox.

Eventually Patrick had given up trying to sleep alone. Part of him had also really liked it. Liked Pete.  
“Mhmm, s’warm,” he told Pete in a somnolent mumble.

Dez registered a new voice, creaked open her eyes and realized that she was not indeed holding her dream evening gown but Brendon Urie’s t-shirt. She was now half asleep, half awake, watching everything through half-lidded eyes.

“Morning,” she said, not wanting to open her eyes and face the sunlight. “Ughhh, who made daytime so bright? Fuck them.”

Brendon chuckled. “I have no clue, I normally am not awake this early.”

Dez grabbed her phone from her pocket and clicked on the home screen. “It’s not early, it’s---1:27 in the afternoon,” she said, groaning.

Brendon didn’t hesitate with the smooth talking.

“Not to be too forward, but can I just say you are ten times hotter then you were last night and that’s saying something cause last night I thought you were smokin.” He wasn’t sure if that had come out right, but oh well. He meant it as a compliment.

Dez, who was used to guys trying to sweet talk her, just smirked back. “Thanks B--can I call you B?”

Brendon shrugged. “You can call me anything you want. You can even call me later--you already have my number.”

Dez lifted a perfectly arched brow. Oh, she was definitiely awake now. “Do I?” she smirked, walking her fingertips up his chest. “When did that happen?”

Chills ran up his spine as her fingers walked, he looked up her. She was beautiful. Her long blond hair was golden, almost white, she looked flawless even minutes after waking up.

“Last night, When I asked to see your phone. I threw in my number.” He threw in a wink as well. Typical Brendon.

Behind him, he felt Farrah stirring. She opened her eyes with a tiny grin and the memory of last night and Pete being pelted in the ass before she closed her eyes again and got comfortable between the two boys, pulling her blanket over herself. Light, instant snores let them know she had crashed immediately.  
Dez grinned, pulling him a little closer. “How cute. You’re adorable.”

On the other of the couch, Pete slowly moved to kiss the underside of Patrick’s chin and snuggled into him. “I wish we were at your place right now.”

“Why?” Patrick mumbled, making a noise that meant he wanted to sleep.

“Cause,” Pete said. “I would not let you sleep,” He slowly kissed Patrick softly on the lips.

Brendon sat up. “If I’m adorable, you’re fucking gorgeous. Do you think you’d maybe wanna a grab lunch or a drink sometime?”

“Maybe....maybe so.” Dez said slyly. She couldn’t say yes yet. She barely knew him and he was the typical frat boy in a punk setting so far. He was hot but his game was weak.

“That could be fun,” she intoned.

Patrick slowly returned the kiss, his hand curling into Pete’s black Clandestine hoodie and it took him a moment to realize where had had fallen asleep and who with. He pulled away, his eyes snapping open as he woke up all at once and looked around. Brendon and Dez were deep in conversation, everyone else was asleep. “Uh,” He mumbled as he blinked rapidly.

Brendon heard the vagueness in her voice, he leaned forward, pouting. “You sound unsure. What can I do to make this happen? Roses? What is it, do I stink?” He lifted his arm to sniff himself. Dez leaned in and sniffed him too.

“Nah, you smell good, actually,” She shot him a look. “But I’ve never really been into band dudes,” she said shrugging. “But you’re real cute.”

“Not into band dudes?” Brendon teased. “What is this world coming to.” He shook his head. “mmm, mm, mm. Well if you’re not into band dudes, what are you into? Tell me what you want and I’ll be that for you.”

Dez snorted and laughed. “Isn’t that from The Notebook.”

“No. Maybe. Definitely.” Brendon wiggled his brows. “So what are you into?”

“Pretty boys, mostly. In suits. I could probably be pursuaded, though.”

“Suits? Oh, I got suits. I GOT suits.” Brendon nodded as if he were diva.

Dez just chuckled. “I bet you do!”

Over with Pete, Patrick just looked confused for a long moment and Pete grinned up slyly. “Heya,” he said, and Patrick frowned, a tiny glare being shot to Pete before he sat up. “Don’t do that,” he said, yawning.

Pete ignored him. “Let’s get out of here, let’s go have waffles.” He and his damn waffles.

“That would be rude,” Patrick said as he took off his glasses and began to use Pete’s hood from his hoodie to clean them.

“To who??” Pete said, scowling. “You’ve known these people for a day and a half. You’ve BEEN here for a day and a half. Let’s go already. So you leave a little early, no one is going to cry.”

Patrick furrowed his brows at his best friend and tried to not to glare.

"Troi cool. So is Dez." He replied with a small frown. What was up with him? "What crawled up your ass, a tomato worm?"

Pete made a face like he was holding back insults and huffed. “Just think it’s kind of ridiculous for you of all people to stay at a strangers house for two days. I mean? You don’t even know this girl?”

Patrick raised a brow at his best friend. “Well, I’m sorry? I don’t mean staying with them, I mean just hanging out with them. You’ve been acting weird about this whole thing.”

“My best is my birthday suit.” Brendon shot Dez a wink then laughed.

Dez nodded and laughed softly, “That’s my best, too.”

Brendon smirked at Dez. “So, you got a rad apartment, you got a ‘rad’ boyyfriends anywhere that might pummel me if I take you out?” He said, because she’d never really clarified if she was single and some girls thought they didn’t need to.

Dez looked over her shoulder, realizing that they weren’t the only ones awake. Pete sound sounded a bit heated. He and Patrick were talking in rushed, low voices. She glanced back at Brendon and smiled. “I have lots of boyfriends.”

He raised both brows. “Oh, I see. So it’s a free for all?” Brendon looked mischevious. He could definitely outcharm these ‘boyfriends’--or so he thought. It was kind of mean but he rather enjoyed stealing girls from their boyfriends.

Dez rolled her eyes. “Boy friends. Not a boyfriend, dingus. I’m a single pringle.”

“I have NOT been weird,” Pete argued. “I came over, I partied. I got shot in the fucking ass with a tomato, right?”

“Well you’re being weird now.”

“HOW?” He snapped, and Patrick looked over at Dez and Brendon who were clearly trying to not listen but were anyway. He shot Pete a look that meant ‘lower your voice.’

Pete shrugged. Patrick went on.

“You been pissed this whole time. And to Troi? You were kind of a dick to her.”

“Oh, come on, I say that to all the girls who try to get into your pants.”

“Why the fuck do you think she’s trying to get into my pants?”

“Why the fuck do you think she’s not?” Pete made a ‘Hello?!’ face and shook his head at Patrick who was looking at him with a rather sour yet scolded look. Pete did know more about girls. His best friend kept talking.

“What else is she trying to do? She called you at two a.m and brought you to her house. How the hell did she even get your number?” He sounded oddly like a jealous ex girlfriend Patrick had once had.

Patrick looked over at his friends again before he stood and padded into the kitchen, Pete on his tail, eager to make his point. He opened his mouth and Patrick raised a hand, cutting him off.

“For one thing, she was drunk off her ass and she thought she was calling someone else. Number two, I BROUGHT HER HOME. I am a grown man, Pete, I can make my own decisions. What the fuck is wrong with you?” Patrick frowned, leaning away from Pete.

Pete glared back at his friend unsure of why he really was angry. All he knew was he was jealous and that he didn’t want Patrick to fall for someone. Not even a little.

“Nothing,” Pete muttered and put his hands up like he was the one being attacked. He sighed and crossed his arms.

Patrick tapped a foot in frustration. “Sometimes you’re a fucking child, Wentz.”

“Fuck you, dude!”

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Quit being a drama queen.”

“Me?!” Pete sputtered. “Okay, then. Fine. Tell you what---since Troi doesn’t wanna get in your pants, and we all know you’re too frigid to ever make a move--you don’t mind if I get into hers, right?” Pete gave Patrick an evil glare and took a fake step forward. He was being such a being a dick and he wasn’t sure why. He was just so angry.

Patrick narrowed his eyes into a harsh glare. “Fuck off.” He said, though Pete detected the emotion he had been trying to provoke: uncertainty. He knew Pete could steal her in a moment, he was everything Patrick wasn’t. Smooth, good looking, perfect with words. Pete was covered in tattoos and he was covered in a fedora.

“No, I’m asking,” Pete said with sass. “I mean, you’re not into her, right? Who gives a fuck?” Please don’t say you are, please don’t say you are, he found himself pleading silently.

“Pete, I JUST fucking met the girl. Yes, she’s cute, but I don’t know much about her. I want to though. What is with you? Why are you so jealous?”

“I’m not,” Pete said hotly, the heat rising in his cheeks, “I’m just looking out for you.”

“Well don’t. I don’t need you to protect me, Pete.”

Pete stared at Patrick for a long time before he finally nodded. “Yeah, okay,” he muttered, looking around. “I got you.” He glowered and walked past Patrick, feeling every which way but right.

*  
Brendon hadn’t stopped grinning since he’d woken up. Dez was smirking away because she couldn’t back her amusement.

“You’re such a charmer,” She told him and chuckled lightly. Brendon shrugged with an expression bordering on smug.

“I do what I can,” He said, about to go on. His eyes was caught by a rumpled looking Pete with a scowl on his face and a glare that looked like he could possibly shoot lasers out of his eyes.

“What’s up--” He said to his friend who completely ignored him and marched towards the door. He yanked it open and slammed it behind him with a resonating thud. Dez lifted her brows, looking rather surprised. Brendon made a clueless face before he looked back to Deizin.

“So are you guys---”

Dez looked towards the door and Brendon paused.

Dez stared at the door for a long second. “---I’ll....I’ll be right back. Hold that thought?” She told Brendon, hopping up.

Brendon looked disappointed.

“Oh...kay...?” He said, realizing he didn’t really have a choice. She was out the door within seconds and he sighed. Another one lost to Wentz. How did Pete manage to do that? He was happy? Some girl or guy was fawning over his smile. He was upset? Some girl or guy was looking for a way to comfort him. He was pissed? Someone was surely on his heels, trying to ease his anger. It didn’t matter what he did, he was the type of person that people hungered to connect to. Even h hae himself had crushed on him---hard--for nearly two years. When Pete had first signed Panic to his lable, it hard been hard to resist his charm. Pete said he really liked Panic’s sound, but when they were alone, it was the sound Brendon made between kisses he liked better.

Brendon’s mind wandered back to 2005, after a warped tour show. It was a hot, sticky, summer evening after the venue has closed and they were pressed up against the rear of Fall Out Boy’s tour bus. Pete had Brendon by the collar and he was kissing him like he wanted to steal all of his oxygen, his tan face shadowed in the moonlight. After nearly fifteen minutes, Brendon smiled into Pete’s lips and pulled away, breathing fast.

“Jesus, Pete, you need no air, do you?”

“Just need you to kiss me again,” Pete told him thickly, pulling him closer. He trailed his lips down Brendon’s throat and the younger boy made a sound of appreciation as Pete moved himself closer.

Crotchs pressed together, and heavy breathing filling the dimly night air had Brendon wide eyed, his head swimming with the taste of Pete’s mouth. It tasted vaguely like M&M’s, rum, and cherry chapstick. The sound of Pete whimpering into his mouth with such necessity drove an urgency deeper into him. He had a feeling they would have gotten together that night for the first time if Patrick hadn’t called out for Pete from the front of the tour bus. Peter had dropped Brendon without so much as a second thought and practically ran to the bus doors.

Pete had that habit. Dropping things on a dime for Patrick.

Other people had a habit of dropping things for Pete.

*

Pete Let the door slam shut behind him and huffed away towards the end of the hall. He was making a beeline for the exit staircase when he heard the door open behind him. If it was Patrick, Pete was going to kick him in the shin. He turned to see Dez on his trail, giving him a tiny smile with just a hint of sheepishness.

“Hi,” She said, falling into step with him. Pete glanced at her quickly before he looked ahead, very seriously. “Hi,” he said, quietly.

“You okay?”

“Do I look okay?”

“You look the same way you looked when you got here.”

Pete looked to Dez with his signature frown and she flashed him a smile and nudged him softly. “You leaving?” she asked and Pete resisted the urge to snap at her. What did she care? She barely knew him.

“Going for a walk,” Pete said gruffly.

“Can I come?”

He stopped as they approached the staircase exit and looked at her curiously. “Why?”

“Because you look like you could use a friend.” She said, smiling softly. Peter stared at her for a long time, wondering if he could spot dark motives in her irises if he tried hard enough. She looked back at him, tilting her head ever so slightly as her eyes locked with his in a firm but surprising manner.

Dez wasn’t there to poke holes in his secrets, to gather anything from him---she had simply recognized the expression on his face and felt that he needed a friend. She tugged the corners of her lips up, faintly and she saw something flicker in facade. A moment of something...not weakness...more like he wanted to smile without being vulnerable and she knew what that was like.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity but may have only been eight seconds or so, Pete shrugged---though something in the drop of his shoulders suggested he was rather relieved. They began to take the stairs in silence and finally after two flights, Dez felt the needed to break the silence before she began to do this thing she did where she said random things in awkward silences. She really wasn’t sure why she did it, maybe to be funny and break the tension? She wasn’t sure, but once, after she witnessed two of her friends break up, she blurted out ‘Shit-Fuck-Smackledorfed.’

Needless to say, it kind of made the situation worse.

“Soo....” Dez cleared her throat as they continued down the last flight of stairs. “What happened back there? You don’t seem like you’ve been having very much fun.”

“What are you talking about?” Pete said sarcastically. “I love my life.”

Dez rolled her eyes and gave him a ‘come on’ look. It wasn’t too hard to put things together. They had, after all, fallen asleep in the same room. She had done her best to mind her own business but it was kind of difficult to not pay attention to two of her favorite musicians when they were curled up together in her living room. And not only that, they were damn adorable, she had to admit. Not only that, but Pete had no skill whatsoever at whispering so the big fuss had reached more than the single intended targer audience member. Part of Deizin was curious. Her best friend had spent the day flirting with Patrick. She didn’t want to encourage her if there was some kind of unfinished between him and Pete. She didn’t want Troi to get hurt. The girl was a tad fragile when it came to her self esteem. More importantly, though in the present moment, she knew that Pete was feeling something intense, and she knew he was covering it up.

“It’s okay, I won’t judge you,” She said simply. “You don’t have to tell me, but if you need to vent, I’m here.” She nodded and then she jogged down the last few steps to push open the exit to the bulding. Sunlight broke the flourescent lit stairway. Pete stepped out and she followed him. He stopped in the sidewalk and looked both ways. He felt like he wanted to explode with feelings. Like his ribcage was too tight and his heart would surely beat too hard and crush up against it. Pete look a breath and spoke.

“I feel something for him.” He said without looking at Dez. She stepped up next to him and nodded as he looked around for another moment and then began to walk. She moved with him, unsure of where they were going, but happy to know he had one for one more.

“I don’t know what it is. I used to think it was love,” Pete said, unable to look at her. “---But that’s another story.” Pete looked at his shoes as he walked then lifted his eyes.

“Patrick is the only person who’s ever been there for me, one hundred percent. No questions,” Pete said, shaking his head.

“He’s just always been there, since that moment I went over to his house to hear him play. Boy was standing there, wearing shorts, a freakin argyle sweater and these---” Pete put his hands out,

“These long black socks and I think some penny loafers or something. And then his hat. Cause you know, Patrick has to have his hat---”

Pete shook his head again and smiled, “And fuck man, something in the way he was---in his being---I knew I wanted to be his friend and he’s just always been there for me. But I also knew there was something more. He’s like a surreal painting from a dream that I can touch. When the whole world looks like shit, he is like this single ray of light that outshines everything---he lights up my darkness.”

Dez raised a brow at Pete who’s cheeks flushed. “I guess I just...don’t know what I feel.”

He fell silent and glanced at Dez to see what all she had put together. She said nothing, though, and continued to walk in silent patience. She gave him a look that meant he could go on, if he wanted to and she gave a tiny, sublte nod.

“Part of me is jealous?” He muttered, putting his hands out. “Honestly, I don’t even know why I’m telling you, really. You’re best friend is trying to hook up with mine.” His voice was bitter and those golden eyes were green with envy.

Dez half smiled, half frowned. “You know, if you guys having something going on, it’s okay to say that. Troi would understand. She’s my best friend and I know the last thing she would ever want to do is come between two best friends.”

Pete sighed loudly. “I just---I don’t know anymore.” He met Dez’s eyes for quick moment. “If I’m being honest, I don’t really know how I feel about him. All I know is that when there is someone else looking at him they way I do, it freaks me out.”

“Well...have you ever told Patrick that?”

“Yes, of course, and he was all about it.” Pete shook his head as if a tragedy had occured. “It was ME who ruined it. Patrick was all in for me and I couldn’t stop fucking other people.”

“Why?” The question was even, without judgment. She listened intently and walked with the man.

Pete shrugged. “I dunno....but I blew it. He was all for dating and I was...well I was all for having fun. I think we lasted about three official weeks before Patrick caught me in the backstage bathroom of concert with Ryan Ross.” Pete kept shaking his head. “Poor Ryan. His nose was never quite the same after Patrick broke it.” And Patrick had never been quite the same with Pete.

Dez snorted but the regained her composur as they turned the corner and kept going.

“Sorry. It’s really hard to picture Patrick hitting a drum too hard, let alone a person.”

Pete rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right, that boy has a violent streak. I’m serious, you should have seen him back in the day. He was a little firecracker. He helped me get out of half the fights I started.” They both grinned and Pete stopped at a crosswalk, checking out the signs.

Dez snorted but then regained her composur as they turned the corner and kept going. Pete tapped his sides as they walked.

“I mean I thought it was real then, but I couldn’t...commit.” His shoulders dropped with a sigh. “Because--I dunno--I don’t know why. All I know is all I see is Patrick, but then I see me and I wonder if I’m really what he needs. He deserves someone amazing, someone who doesn’t forget him when the next guy walks by.” He gave Dez a grim smile and the girl shook her head.

“Sounds like you really care about him.”

“I do.”

“Why didn’t you guys try again?”

“We did. Once. It was just never official and I found too many ways to fuck it up. Eventually Patrick punched me in the stomach and told me I was a dick for playing games.” He smiled. “I deserved it.”

“Boy, Patrick sure does punch a lot of people.”

Pete laughed. “He’s actually really tough.” A content look glazed over his eyes at the thought.

“So...Patrick is gay then?” Dez said, slightly confused. Pete shook his head.

“Nah, I don’t know. I’m pretty sure I’m the only guy he’s kissed....I hope I’m the only guy he’s kissed...” He shook away the thought before he got distracted. It was easy to do when thinking about Patrick kissing anything.

“Nah,” He went on, “He likes girls.” But maybe he could be into me...

Dez noddd her head, her blonde hair falling over her shoulder. “Interesting. I never knew that. “And you?” She held her breath--hoped it wasn’t a weird question. Pete looked over at her, and paused.

“Me...well...” He grinned. “I’m into everyone!” He joked then nodded before smiling casually. “Um, yeah. I’m into guys and girls. I’m bisexual.”

“Cool,” Dez said and nodded. “I was just curious.”

He nodded, too. He didn’t really care, he was comfortable with his sexuality, but...

“Dez...would you....would you not tell anyone what I told you, please?” Pete looked down at his shoes and Deizin’s eyes went wide at the sight. He looked so...so innocent and hopeful. It was obvious he wasn’t the kind to just go spilling secrets like this.

“..About Patrick.” It’s not like everyone didn’t know, but there also hadn’t many girls lately, stealing his best friend’s attention, either.

“I’ll take it to my grave.”

Pete groaned and Dez snickered. Pete looked around for a moment then looked over to Dez.

“I’m tired of walking, let’s get a cab.”

She nodded, and he began to look around for approaching cabs. One zoomed by despite his lifted hand. Dez tisked with amusement, stepped to the edge of the curb, raised a hand and called “Taxi!” rather lazily. Four cabs came to an immediate screech. Amature.

Pete raised his brows and made a face at her.

“Excuseeeee me,” he said, waving his finger. The two of them laughed and stepped into the nearest Taxi.

*  
Patrick tiptoed down the hall quietly, despite the fact that he was wearing socks and he was walking on carpet. Troi’s door was cracked and he stuck his head in first to make sure she wasn’t naked or in bed with someone. He knew this was unlikely, but hey, what did he know?

She was tangled in her blankets, staring up at the ceiling mentally whining about how bright it was despite the blinds being shut. She knew it was late but she was still so damn sleepy. She didn’t exactly party this often. Joe was snoring lightly, draping over the bean bag chair and she wondered if he was planning to take it home; Adam was passed out cold. She looked over immediately and she saw his face, and smiled.

“Hey!” she said brightly and then cringed. She pointed at the two sleeping guys and put a finger to her lips. “Shhh.”

Patrick stepped in looking sheepish. His hands adjusted his fedora nervously and she sat up. He paused just inside the door.

“Hey,” he told, cheeks warming up.“Did I wake you up?”

She smiled and chuckled to herself. He was so adorable.

“Of course not.” She scooted over and pulled the blankets so he could sit, too and waved to him. He smiled and pulled her door shut and snuck over quietly, sitting next to her.

“That was a fun party. How’d you sleep?”

He nodded awkwardly but smiled. “Pretty good. Pete likes to cuddle so I was way too warm.”

She beamed. “You guys are cute. I bet it’s great to have Pete as a best friend.”

Patrick nodded, “Yeahhh, it’s interesting. Probably about the same as having Dez as a best friend.”

Troi looked horrified for a moment then smiled. “Dez is terryfing.”

“Pete scares me.”

She snorted and they both laughed as quietly as possible. Patrick found himself mesmerized by her laugh; the way her head tilted back in delight, the way her smile lit up her face and her teeth shined. Her laughter was like windchimes tinkling in the wind; it was a sound that resonated in his ears even after they calmed down. The man stared at her in an expression of awe and she pursed her lips in embarrassment. Her eyes dropped to her lap and her cheeks burned pink. “What?” She whispered.

“Nothing,” Patrick said just as quietly. He felt very breathless. His fingers plucked her blanket up and fiddled with it, looking for anything to say. “I thought we were going to get to talk more last night.” He blurted out.

Troi felt her stomach flip. “I thought so, too, but I guess we were having too much fun.” She didn’t want to admit what she had seen, and he definitely did not want to admit what she had not.

“Yeah, that was cool, but I wanted to have fun talking to you.” He did his best to say that smoothly, knowing he had failed. Fuck, he was so bad at flirting.

“We can have fun right now.” She snatched his fedora away and dropped it on her head with a comical wink and Patrick reached out for it with a grin.

“No! Gimme!”

“Nope!” She put her hands on the brim and sat it perfectly, looking up under hooded eyes that were surely trying to engrave themselves in his memory.

He sucked in a breath. “You look better in my own hat then I do.”

“Impossible.”

“You do.” He said softly. “You look amazing.”

She found herself at a loss for words. Something passed between them--electricity, it felt like and Troi shivered at his words. She had never had anyone tell her that. She’d never had anyone compliment her like that. Dez sure, but not in the same context. And yes, she had been given compliments, but never made her feel this way. In awe. Disbelief maybe? Patrick was suddenly much closer and she wondered vaguely if her pulse was directly correlated to his proximity. She dropped her gaze then lifted it just quickly, meeting his eyes but then his mouth stole her attention, and he found it hard to focus. Her throat was cotton dry and her pulse was racing so fast, she wasn’t sure if she could move. He had such an effect on her, it was all so surreal. Oh, fuck, please kiss me. Please.

Patrick slid hand towards her and she paused. “You and Pete...” she said, swallowing. It was the last thing she wanted to bring up, but she just had to know. She had to.

Patrick shook his head, his blonde bangs swishing. “We’re just friends.”

“You sure?” She raised her brows and gave him a look. She wasn’t trying to be judgemental at all, she just wanted to know before she let herself really crush on him. “It’s okay if you aren’t.”

Patrick was quiet for a long time, longer than she would have liked, but then nodded very firmly. “I’m sure. Trust me. Besides....” He looked up shyly, an innocent expession about him. He was so close to her she could see the specks of hazel that seemed to illuminate his green eyes.

“Besides what?” She leaned in too, as if pulled by gravity, losing all her breath. Patrick moved closer, his face inches from her, his eyes searching for something---he didn’t know what---but he knew what he was searching for, she had it. He was sure of it. The only ever time he had felt this odd sense of security was with Pete and he had know him for years. This sudden presence of the emotion had him questioning everything--but something about her begged him to know more.

“Besides...” Patrick echoed again, leaning to close the gap between them. His hands practically shaking from anticipation. Troi’s eyes began to drift shut, her heart hammering against her ribs. All at once, everything began to fade away and then.

“Ooooooooooooooooooh,” They both heard and simultaneously froze. Troi forced her eyes open and sat back, the color rushing to her cheeks. God, these two. They were everything she ever imagined they would be, and more.

Patrick shut his eyes and groaned silently. Fuck Joe and Sisky so hard right now.

“No, don’t stop.” Joe snickered, “It was just about to get good!”

“So say what are you waiting for, kiss her, kiss her,” Sisky sang brightly. Patrick cringed. Sisky was a bass player for a reason.

Troi ducked her head and covered her face. So this was what it was going to be like to have these two as friends. This was going to be a trip. Sisky snickered and she tossed a pillow his way.

Patrick turned and shot his friends the meanest glare he could muster and shook his head. Oh, they had it coming. Just wait. “You’re dead,” he mouthed to them before he turned around and smiled awkwardly. He racked his brain for something to say--anything---come on, Patrick make words happen---

“.....Uh...so...how bout them cowboys?” He said weakly.

“BOOO,” Joe said, hands around his mouth. “I’m a Cubs fan!”

Patrick ran a hand over his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, guys there is the third chapter. Please let me know what you think. I might stop writing this fic is no one is reading it. Hope you like it! I'm off cause it's my birthday! Have fun reading! (:  
> -Smokes
> 
> Song referenced - Tenderness by General Public (title of the chapter)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks _so much_ for reading guys, I know this first chapter is long but I had a burst of inspiration. Some readers like long, some like short, review and tell me what you like and what you thought. I’ll be updating real soon. Stay tuned!
> 
> P.S. -  
> Deizin is pronounced “Dayzeen”  
> Troian is pronounced “Troyan/Troy.”  
> *Santiago University is fictional
> 
> Playlist:  
> Shadowplay - Joy Division  
> Overnight Celebrity - Twista  
> I Feel Good - James Brown  
> Party In The USA - Miley Cyrus  
> Under the Bridge - Red Hot Chili Peppers


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